


Dead Man Walking

by Ashley5627



Category: White Collar
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, Depression, Gen, Hurt Neal, Hurt/Comfort, Prison, Psychological Trauma, Russia, Scars, Tattoos, Terrorists, Trauma, Whipping, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2018-05-25 05:06:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 40,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6181423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashley5627/pseuds/Ashley5627
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal crosses a line by cutting his anklet and returning to his thieving ways. Peter can't forgive him for what he's done and after finding Neal, he leaves him in a Russian prison to pay for his crimes, but is all how it seems? After digging deeper, Peter realizes he was wrong about Neal and knows he has to fix what he broke. But can a friendship survive a near death sentence?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Betrayal Is The Deadliest Of Sins

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I'm invoking my right of creative license. I've done some research, and no, Russia has not executed someone since 1996, but they technically haven't eliminated the ability to, under certain circumstances. The one in this story is the certain circumstance. It may not be in real life, I'm not really sure, but just roll with it, okay? Also, Russian prisons aren't exactly like the one portrayed in this story. TV shows break rules and bend truths all the time, so why can't we?
> 
> Warning: Violence, language, a generous helping of angst and Neal whump, depression, mentions of suicide, mentions of sexual assault though there isn't any, eventual torture scenes in later chapters.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own White Collar. If I did, Neal probably wouldn't like me very much. Also, I only chose Russia because of their prison tattoos. I'm in no way trying to bash the country.
> 
> I'd like to give a _huge_ thanks to 'kanarek13' for the beautiful artwork! For a better look at it, go to http:SLASHSLASHkanarek13DOTlivejournalDOTcomSLASH146655DOThtml#t2669791 and just replace the dots with periods and the slashes with slashes. Be sure to check out their other work as well!

                    

 

After two long months of searching for his escaped convict, a man that had disappeared so unexpectedly one night without even a hint of a farewell, Peter finally found Neal. He really didn't expect to find him already in prison and on another continent, though. _What the hell was Neal doing in Russia?_

After Peter found out what Neal had been arrested for, he was furious. He didn't even believe it at first, but Neal had actually been arrested at the scene, caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar. Why would Neal break into some Russian science facility, then not even steal anything? It didn't make any sense. When was he going to stop with the boneheaded stunts? If it all had something to do with another artifact that held the location of some long-lost treasure or some woman that wasn't even worth it, then Peter just might have to strangle the kid just to put them both out of their misery.

Taking a few days of off work, Peter flew to Russia to speak to Neal face-to-face. He didn't want to say what he had to say to Neal over the phone.

Peter wasn't sure what he expected when he saw Neal after all this time, but he didn't really think he'd find Neal looking anything less than his usual perfect self. He definitely wasn't looking anywhere close to Dino or another one of the Rat Pack. If the situation was different, then Neal probably would have been complaining about the dirty grey jumpsuit and the stubble that was quickly turning into a beard that he had. But the situation was very different.

"Of all of the places I imagined I'd find you, I really didn't think I'd find you here," Peter said as he sat down across Neal. The younger man was looking at Peter like he was some sort of savior, like he was here to get him out of this place, ignoring the crimes that put him in here in the first place.

Now that he was closer, Peter could see a dark purple bruise under Neal's left eye as well as a cut on his lower lip. There also were bruises on his pale arms, predominantly on his wrists, most likely from being in handcuffs. Peter stopped himself from feeling concerned about what might have happened to Neal - it was his fault that he was in here and Peter had no sympathy for him.

"Well, I didn't exactly plan this," Neal replied sheepishly, but that joyous smile was still on his face.

That oh-so innocent smile that Peter had fallen for far too many times made him snap. "I bet you didn't," Peter said angrily, making Neal's smile falter a bit. "What possessed you to break into a Russian science facility, Neal? How stupid are you?"

Neal looked a little taken aback by the agent's sudden attitude change. "Peter, it wasn't like that," he insisted as he leaned forward a little, his voice almost conspiratorial. He furtively glanced back at the guard that stood at the door of the room they were in, but the large Russian didn't seem at all interested in what they were saying.

"I didn't come here to hear your lies and excuses. You've done some boneheaded things in your time, Neal, but this one tops them all," Peter said, letting all of his disappoint in Neal seep into his voice.

"Will you just let me explain?" Neal asked, looking close to heartbroken, but Peter didn't let that stop him. Neal was a conman, one of the best, and he knew how to manipulate people and their emotions. He had been doing that to Peter since the beginning, when Peter had thought that they were partners, friends even.

"Three people died, Neal," Peter deadpanned, not giving Neal a chance to weasel his way out of what he did. Peter took a bitter kind of satisfaction in seeing the way that Neal paled at his words.

"You can't honestly believe that _I_ did that, do you?" Neal asked, incredulous, but also looking unsure of what Peter's answer would be.

Peter leaned back, disappointment written all over his face. "No, I don't think you killed them, but your actions assisted in their deaths." Neal hadn't broken into that facility alone, but he had been the only one there when the police showed up.

"I didn't know anyone would die. I would have done something to help, but they were dead before they hit the ground," Neal said hauntingly. He was right - they were all shot, point-blank, in the head. But that wasn't reason enough for Neal to simply be let go. Not even close.

"I've let some things slip, but I'm not helping you out of this one," Peter said, more furious and disappointed in Neal than he ever had been. "I don't know if I even could if I wanted to."

Neal flinched a little at Peter's harsh tone, but the irate agent ignored it. "Peter, you don't understand," Neal tried to say, but Peter stopped him again.

"Oh, I understand perfectly. Once a conman, always a conman. I don't know why I had thought you could ever change," Peter said, his voice and stare cold as ice.

Neal looked like he had been just stabbed in the back. The look of shock and betrayal on his face was more satisfying than Peter expected, or probably should have been, but it was exactly how Peter felt.

And that's how Peter left him, sitting there on that cold metal bench, stunned into silence by Peter's harsh words.


	2. You're Just A Little Too Late

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, a quick update!

One month later, Peter walked down the narrow hallway of the dank Russian prison, past loud prisoners that were yelling at the agent in a language that he didn't know. They were probably calling him every curse word that he knew, and then some. A man of his status was not someone that was liked in a place like this, after all. The suit he wore might as well have been a big sign that said 'cop', according to a man that was once like a son to him. He didn't mind though - he deserved it, and so much more.

They stopped at what seemed to be the only quiet cell on the whole block. Through the cold metal bars, Peter could see the young man that was sentenced to death tomorrow.

He was sitting sideways on the narrow bed, the only other piece of furniture being the toilet that doubled as a sink on the top. He had his back against the wall and his legs bent at the knees as his feet sat on the thin, dirty blanket with him. A two week old beard on his face helped hide the stark sharpness of his cheekbones and the array of bruises that marred his face, but not enough to hide them from Peter. The loose grey shirt and pants he had on were ripped and stained with things that Peter rather not identify. He was staring at the wall in front of him, but his blue eyes were blank, lifeless. He was the picture of lost hope - like someone that was dead but his heart was still beating, like it still had hope that his guardian angel would come to his rescue at the last moment, even when his soul didn't.

"Open the door," Peter told the guard that had escorted him. The guard looked warily at Peter, then did what he was told. Peter walked in, then the guard shut the door behind him, the metal door closing with an ominous clang that reverberated through the other bars.

The young man looked up when Peter entered. He didn't seem happy to see the agent, if anything, he looked disappointed.

"You don't look like my duck confit," Neal said hollowly. His voice was raspy from disuse, his eyes devoid of any joy or youthfulness that usually shined in those no longer bright blue eyes. The dullness in them made Peter's heart clench painfully.

The cell he was in was even smaller than the one the young man had been held in for four years, the one that Peter had put him in. There wasn't anywhere to sit, so Peter stayed standing.

"Hey, Neal...Its been a while," Peter said awkwardly, not knowing what else to say. 'Hey, I was wrong to leave you here without hearing your side of the story. Oh, I'm also sorry that I didn't even bother to check and see that you were sentenced to death, too,' didn't sound quite right to Peter. He messed up so bad that he didn't know if he could express how sorry he was in his lifetime.

Neal just went back to staring at the wall in front of him, eyes devoid of hope.

"Neal, I can't even begin to tell you how sorry I am," Peter said sincerely.

That seemed to get a reaction out of the conman. He looked back at Peter. His eyes finally had an emotion in them, but not one Peter wanted to see. Neal was angry - no, livid.

"You're _sorry_?" Neal asked, incredulous. "I'm sentenced to death! I'm supposed to die tomorrow, and you're _sorry_?"

The guard looked questionably at Peter, silently asking if he wanted out. Peter shook his head. The agent doubted that Neal would attack him, but he would be fine with it if he did. He deserved that and so much more.

"You have to believe me, Neal, when I say that I didn't know they were sentencing you to death," Peter said. The words tasted bitter and ugly in his mouth and they brought a new wave of guilt and heartache with them, something that Peter had felt so many times since he figured out how badly he had screwed up.

"Why would I believe you? You didn't believe me," Neal shot back, his words sounding immature, but ringing true.

Peter decided not to comment on what Neal said. "I looked more into what happened...and I saw that you were telling the truth," Peter said, ashamed that he hadn't listened to Neal's pleas of innocence a month ago.

"That must have really shocked you," Neal said bitterly. "I'm surprised you didn't have a heart attack or something." Peter guess Neal was disappointed that he didn't.

"I tracked down the men that kidnapped you and they confessed to forcing you to break into the facility. Since you were coerced, nothing was actually stolen and you didn't kill any of the workers, I managed to convince them to get you released back into my custody. Having the real culprits to blame probably helped too." Peter paused for a second, hoping Neal would say something, but he remained silent. "I'm here to get you out of here, Neal," Peter said, trying to sound happy and comforting at the same time.

"And where would we go?" Neal asked. "Back to New York? Back to working with the FBI? Did you really expect me to just say yes and we'd be best buddies again?"

"I know it'll be hard, but I'm willing to work on it if you are," Peter said.

"You can't just put a bandaid on a bullet wound, Peter," Neal said sadly as he looked back at the wall again, his anger now gone and replaced by hopelessness. Peter wished that his pathetic bandaid of an apology could fix the bullet wound that he had inflicted on Neal's heart, but it seemed less likely each second.

"I may not have helped you a month ago, but I'm here to help you now," Peter said sincerely. He really wanted to right his wrong, but Neal had to accept his apology for that to happen. Peter wasn't sure he deserved it, but he knew that Neal needed to at least come with him so he could get out of this hellhole.

"You know what I was thinking for the first month that I was locked in here?" Neal asked, his eyes hollow as he stared off into nothing. "I was thinking that, without a shadow of a doubt, you would find me and you would get me out of here the moment you found out why I was here." He laughed, the sound bitter and hollow. "I can't believe I conned myself into believing that you'd see me for anything other than a criminal." He shook his head in disbelief. "Shame on me." He put his arms around his legs and pulled them a little closer.

Peter walked up to Neal and went to touch the man's shoulder in an uncharacteristic attempt to comfort him, but Neal startled back and threw his hands up in defense. Between his fingers, Peter could see that his eyes were wide and afraid. He thought that Peter was going to hurt him, why? Peter had never physically hurt him before.

Peter backed up, very concerned about Neal's reaction, and after a tense second, Neal lowered his hands and relaxed a little.

"I wasn't going to hurt you, Neal," Peter said. He hoped Neal knew that.

"I know," Neal said, not looking at Peter. He looked...ashamed for some reason.

"Then why...?" Peter asked. His mind was putting the pieces together, but he didn't want to accept what image they were making. What had happened to Neal in this prison that make him feel like every contact would be a violent one?

Neal shook his head. "Doesn't matter," he whispered, and something broke inside of Peter when he realized that the younger man actually believed that - that he didn't matter. What had happened to the young man in front of him that made him think that?

Dogs barking in the distance broke the tense silence and Peter watched as Neal tensed, his hands turning into fists, and snapped his gaze to the bars of his cell, watching and listening intently. Peter looked as well, but the dogs were too far away. The barking soon died down and Neal relaxed a little. Peter knew that they used dogs in this prison for inmate control and he really didn't want to think of Neal being hurt by one. Had he? By his reaction, it was possible.

Peter waited a minute before speaking again. "Will you come with me?" he asked, so very hopeful and so very afraid of the answer.

"I have a date with the electric chair later, so I can't make it," Neal said. His eyes didn't have anger or shame or even pain in them now. They were empty, hollow, lifeless. Then his mouth twisted into what might've been a smirk. "Actually, I don't know if it's going to be an electric chair or not. Could be lethal injection, or hanging. Maybe I'll even get my own firing squad. I really haven't bothered to ask. I guess it'll be a surprise."

Peter was afraid to wonder if Neal really did want to die. Or did he know that Peter wouldn't let that happen? Did he even think that? Had Neal given up hope of the humanity of the world? Of Peter?

"You're not going to die tomorrow, Neal. I've stopped the execution...Though, at the rate you seem to be going, you'll die sooner rather than later in here," Peter said as he took in the bruises on Neal's face, more livid than the ones he had sported the last time Peter had seen him, trying to get some sort of reaction from Neal, but he didn't react, didn't look happy or angry, just kept looking at the dirty wall in front of him.

Peter couldn't think of anything else to say to convince Neal to come with him, so he put the papers that Neal was supposed to sign to get out of here, the ones that Peter had already signed, on the bed next to the younger man, then signaled the guard to open the door.

"Wait," Neal said, and for the second that Neal paused Peter thought that he had changed his mind, that he wanted to be free of this place even if it meant coming with Peter, but then Neal continued and Peter's heart, as well as most of his hope, shattered. "Before you leave, can you please take your knife out of my back? It itches."

Peter hung his head for a moment, defeat trying its best to crush him. "I'm not giving up on you," he said quietly, sincerely. He turned back to see that Neal was staring at the wall again, his eyes showing no hope of salvation. Peter prayed that he could still be saved. The agent would get him out of there one way or another, but he wasn't sure if it would be in time, if it was already too late to save the young man that wasn't lying a month ago when Peter had walked away from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there it chapter two! Tell me what you think, please!


	3. The Mark Of Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it took me too long to update, but I just couldn't get this chapter right. I hope I finally have it right. And hey, this chapter is quite long!

The next day Peter watched a reluctant and uncharacteristically disheveled Neal walk out of the large prison gates and into the sunshine. As Neal squinted his eyes and looked around to get his bearings, Peter wondered how long it had been since he had been let out into the sun. Had they let him have some sort of yard time? Did they let him interact with other inmates? Or did they just leave him to rot in his cell?

Peter hadn't had the time to read Neal's medical reports that he had gotten from the prison yet. If he was honest with himself, he was a little afraid of what he might find. And if he was completely honest, he was terrified.

Neal's eyes finally landed on Peter, reminding the agent of the first time that they had been in this situation, only it was so much different. The first time Neal was optimistic, willing and excited to leave prison, now he seemed more upset about leaving than staying and subsequently dying. The thought sent a sharp pang straight to Peter's heart.

Peter noticed with some concern that the younger man was limping a little as he walked over to where Peter was standing, but stopped several feet away from the agent. He still looked like hell - too skinny, too dirty - but having a dress shirt and slacks on instead of the grey jumpsuit was an improvement. Peter wondered where Neal's coat was being as it was below freezing outside. He'd have to get Neal into his rental car soon to get him out of the bitter wind.

"Just remember, out of the options of either staying in there and dying or working with you again, the second option barely won out," Neal said hollowly, looking Peter dead in the eye, a deep animosity that seemed to dull his usually vibrant blue eyes hiding something else deep within the windows of his wounded soul, Peter just couldn't place what.

Peter had to swallow down the feelings that that stare brought, one of which was fear. Not of Neal, but of the thought of their relationship never being the same again. Even though it was a fools wish, Peter still hoped, on some level, that the two of them would some day be back to the way they were - partners, friends. Peter knew that he didn't deserve Neal's forgiveness, but he still wished for it.

Peter didn't really want to, but he still pulled the anklet out of his pocket and showed it to Neal. Neal just resignedly lifted his left pant leg, no complaint, no smart remark, no nothing. Peter put the anklet on quickly and efficiently, then stood up, trying to catch Neal's eye, but the younger man refused to look at him.

Not knowing what to say, Peter just sighed, turned to walk towards where he had parked his rental car and beckoned Neal to follow. The agent was relieved to hear Neal following him. Peter unlocked the car and got in. After a long moment where Peter almost held his breath, Neal did as well.

After starting the car and putting it into drive, Peter waited in vain for Neal to say something - _anything_ \- but he didn't speak up, just gazed out the window to his right. "We're going to have to stay at a hotel for the night," Peter said when he couldn't handle the silence anymore. "We would've left today, but there weren't any flights to New York until tomorrow."

Neal just nodded, still refusing to look at Peter.

"June said that she's more than happy to let you stay at her place again," Peter said, not mentioning all of the other things she had said to Peter. She definitely could be a feisty woman when she wanted to be.

Neal looked over at the mention of June, but then just turned his gaze back to the landscape passing by.

Peter gazed at the bruises on Neal's face with concern. If that was what Peter could see, what was Neal's clothes hiding? "Do you want me to stop at a clinic or something? Get checked out?" _Do you need to be tested?_ Peter really didn't want to even think about what might have happened to Neal in the months that he was gone, but it did happen and Peter knew that he had to control the fallout and pick up the pieces as best as he could.

Neal shot Peter a look that was somewhere between surprise and confusion, but then silently declined by shaking his head and went back to staring out the window. Peter didn't at all believe that he wasn't hurt in some way, but he still kept driving towards the hotel.

Peter was definitely going to make Neal go see a doctor at some point when they made it back to America. Trying to talk to a doctor that spoke Russian would be very difficult anyway, not to mention trying to get Neal to go to a clinic. The kid had been a pain to go to the doctor before Peter made the biggest mistake of his life, Neal being the one to pay the price when it should have been Peter to face the consequences. He'd have to get Neal checked out eventually, though, hopefully after Peter earned back a little bit of the trust between them that he had destroyed so completely and carelessly. More likely, Elizabeth or June would get Neal to go to the doctor. They weren't the ones that had given up on him when he needed a friend the most.

After what felt like hours of painful silence but was only minutes, they arrived at the hotel that Peter had stayed at the night before. There was nothing spectacular about it, but it wasn't a roach hotel either. If things were normal, Neal probably would have made some sort of remark about the FBI not being able to splurge enough for a decent place to stay, even though Peter was the one paying out of his own pocket, but the kid just walked wordlessly into the room after Peter unlocked it, no complaint, no remark, not even a twist of the mouth.

"You can have that bed," Peter said as he pointed at the bed further away from the door, the one that he hadn't slept in last night, though he didn't really get any sleep in general after seeing the horrible result of his colossal mistake.

Neal walked over to the indicated bed and sat down at the end of it, wincing as he did. When Peter saw that he was immediately concerned.

"Hey, you okay? Are you hurt?" Peter asked as he walked over to Neal. Peter saw Neal stiffen, but tried to ignore it.

Neal shook his head and gave Peter a big smile that didn't even get close to reaching his eyes. "No, of course not," he answered, the first thing he had said since telling Peter that coming home to New York with him was almost as bad as dying.

"Neal, you need to be straight with me. Are you hurt?" Peter repeated, hoping that Neal would just tell the truth.

Neal shook his head again. "I'm fine," he said, his fake smile faltering a little. There was something in Neal's voice that Peter would have called nervousness if he was talking about any other man.

"Dammit, Neal! Just tell me what's wrong so I can help," Peter said, apparently louder and angrier than he had intended because Neal flinched away and pinched his eyes shut, holding his breath as if he was waiting for something to happen. He was preparing himself for a blow, Peter realized with pure dread. It was the same reaction he'd had a day ago when Peter unexpectedly reached out for him.

"Neal," Peter said softly, forcing himself to not reach out and touch Neal. From yesterday's experience, Peter knew that that would only make things worse.

Neal's eyes slowly, cautiously, opened and looked at Peter with embarrassment and a lingering fear, then flicked them away. "Sorry," he said, like he should have been ashamed for reacting in such a way. It broke Peter up inside to know that Neal actually thought that he might hurt him.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Neal, but I do need you to tell me where you _are_ hurt," Peter said softly.

Neal looked at Peter with some doubt, but then started unbuttoning his shirt. Peter's breath got caught in his throat as widespread, dark bruises and cuts were revealed. Peter could tell that some of the bruises were older than others, but some were new, only days old, if that. Judging by how dark some of them were, Peter doubted Neal had gotten away without broken, or at least cracked, ribs. Peter could make out the vague shape of a boot on his abdomen and quite a few of the cuts had stitches. And while Neal had always been on the slight side, now he was just skin and bones. He still had muscle, but any stored fat was long gone.

Then Neal stood up, took his shirt off the rest of the way and turned to show what had become of his back. Whip marks, dozens of them, criss-crossed all over his back, from his shoulders all the way down to where they disappeared under the waistband of his loose pants.

"Jesus, Neal," Peter said breathlessly as he reached a hesitant hand out, ghosting his fingers over the long marks without touching them. Many of them had broken skin, some were older, healing and starting to become scars, but others looked new, raw. Small red lines of dried blood trailed down from a few of them as well. He must have been in excruciating pain when they had been made.

"H-how did this happen?" Peter asked, not really wanting an answer or expecting one.

"I refused to leave my cell when I was told to, 'least the newer ones were from that," Neal responded hollowly, his back still turned to Peter. "They grabbed me and took me out to one of the whipping posts and..." he trailed off, not needing to elaborate farther. Peter's mind was painting its own very vivid, very disturbing picture right now.

Whipping posts. It wasn't just a one-time thing, or certain guards, it was how things were done at that place. Peter knew that the prison that Neal had been held in wasn't known for its hospitality of inmates, but this...this _barbaric_ form of punishment? This was taking things way too far.

"I didn't know, Neal. I didn't," Peter said, desperate for Neal to understand that if he knew, he wouldn't have let that kind of thing happen to him, whether if he was coerced into braking the law or not.

Neal nodded, but still didn't turn around. Peter hoped that Neal believed him, but he couldn't really tell when he couldn't see his face.

"These need antibiotic cream," Peter said as he looked at how bad some of the marks looked. None were infected as far as Peter could tell, but they needed to put some medicine on them to prevent that. All because he wouldn't leave his cell, or at least the newer ones were because of that. Peter really didn't want to think of the other reasons for someone to hurt Neal like that.

Neal tensed at what Peter said. "No - it's fine. They'll heal," he said, sounding close to nervous again.

"They'll heal faster if we treat them, Neal," Peter said, then walked around Neal until he could see the younger man's face. It was full of nearly-masked anxiety.

"You don't have to do anything. They'll heal," he repeated, apparently thinking that that was reason enough not to do anything to help that process.

"What are you afraid of?" Peter asked a bit hesitantly.

"You don't need to waste your money on me. It's not worth it," Neal said, not answering the question.

Peter could read between the lines well enough to know what Neal was really saying. _I'm not worth it_. It was heartbreaking to know that that was how Neal really felt. What had happened to him? Was it just because Peter had left him in that place without a chance to explain himself? Peter really hoped not, but what would the reason be then? Whatever the reason, Peter was still going to get ointment for Neal's back. It was a small way to help Neal heal from what Peter had an unknowing hand in.

"I'm going to go to the store real quick and get something to help with those - can you please just stay here?" Peter said, not sure if Neal would listen.

Neal nodded and Peter tried his best to believe him.

"Why don't you shower while I'm gone?" Peter suggested, thinking about how nice a shower would be for Neal right now. "My razors in there too - go ahead and use it if you want." Peter wondered for a moment if he should be worried about letting Neal use a razor, but if the younger man wanted to die, he would have just stayed in prison.

Neal's eyes lit up a little at the mention of a shower and shave and it both broke Peter's heart and warmed it to see Neal somewhere closer to happy. But it was such a basic thing to be that happy about, something that Peter took for granted every day.

Neal headed for the bathroom as Peter left to go to the pharmacy on the corner. He distractedly bought a few items while watching Neal's GPS signal on his phone the whole time. According to the app on Peter's phone, Neal had stayed in the hotel the whole time Peter was gone, which was both surprising and concerning. If it was a few months ago, Neal would have found a reason to leave the room, then told Peter it was for a good reason and Peter would let it slide because Neal didn't actually run off. But it wasn't a few months ago.

Neal was sitting on his bed when Peter opened the door to the hotel room. His head snapped up when he heard Peter enter, his damp locks falling in front of his eyes from the quick movement. He looked a little closer to normal now that he was clean and shaved, but his skinny, almost fragile appearance and the lack of light in his eyes gave Peter a small, terrifying look into what he had gone through in the last couple of months.

Peter held up the small plastic bag that had the antibiotic cream and a few other things in it. "Got the stuff," he said, then came over to sit on the bed next to Neal. Neal looked like he wanted to scoot away, but stayed put. It killed Peter that Neal was afraid of what Peter would do to him. Was it only him, or was he afraid of everyone now? Peter understood that if he had been treated the way his body was telling Peter he had been treated, then it made sense that he was wary of human contact. The thought sent yet another painful jolt through Peter's heart.

"I'm sorry, but I think I might have used all of the hot water," he said, looking and sounding a little worried about Peter's reaction.

"Is that why you've been flinching away from me? You're afraid I'll hurt you or something if you do something that makes me mad?" Peter asked when a thought suddenly occurred to him, his stomach twisting in knots. He'd never do something like that to Neal, no matter what he did. Of course, what he really did to Neal was much worse and so much harder to forgive and heal from.

"I guess I've gotten used to getting lessons beat into me," Neal said as he stared at his hands, his voice quiet. "Rationally, I know that you wouldn't do something like that, but it's hard to break such a deeply integrated instinct." Peter was relieved to hear that Neal wasn't really afraid of him alone, but the fact that he was afraid of everyone was painful to hear. Reading the file he got from the prison suddenly seemed a lot more frightening to Peter.

"I'd _never_ do anything to physically hurt you, Neal. Please believe that," he said in a very serious voice.

Neal studied Peter's honest expression for several long moments. What he saw must have satisfied him because a small smile appeared on his face, but it was gone the next moment. If Peter had blinked, he would have missed it. Peter was hopeful that they had just made a small but important step forward.

Without instruction, Neal took his shirt off again and turned around on the bed. It was still shocking to see the whip marks even though Peter had seen them not even twenty minutes before, though they looked slightly better now that the lines of blood were mostly gone. But something else caught the agent's eye when he glanced over Neal's shoulder.

Peter had been so distracted with all of the whip marks the first time Neal had taken off his shirt that he hadn't even noticed the black tattoo on the underside of the younger man's right forearm, near his wrist that was bruised from being in handcuffs that had been too tight and on for too long. It was about the size of Peter's fist and actually looked quite professionally done for a prison tattoo. Upon closer inspection, the tattoo was of five playing cards fanned out, two aces, two eights as well as a card that was unrevealed. The Dead Man's Hand.

Peter's grandfather had told him about The Dead Man's Hand when he had taught him how to play poker as a kid - a hand that was thought to be held by old west folk hero, lawman and gunfighter, Wild Bill Hickok when he was murdered.

Peter was surprised to see that Neal had gotten a tattoo. Peter had never heard Neal talk about wanting one or even liking them. What had happened to him in that prison?

"So, what's with the tattoo?" Peter asked casually as he got the ointment out of the bag and put a generous amount on his fingers. The marks were all over Neal's back and he was going to need quite a bit to cover them all.

Neal's back muscles tensed at the question, but he didn't move the tattoo out of sight. He was quiet for a moment before he spoke up. "Everyone knew I was sentenced to death, so some of the other inmates thought it'd be funny to give me The Dead Man's Hand," he said in the same fake-casual voice as Peter's had been, but he was still just as tense.

"They did this without your permission?" Peter asked, appalled by the idea, ointment temporarily forgotten. What else had they forced Neal to do-? Peter forced himself to stop thinking of that for the time being. One problem at a time.

Neal nodded, then shrugged, the whip marks moving grotesquely with his skin. "I don't like tattoos and didn't want one, but they didn't really care," he said, a little bitterness in his voice, but not enough.

Peter was speechless for several minutes. He studied the tattoo some more from over Neal's shoulder as he started carefully applying the ointment to Neal's back, the younger man not even making a sound even though Peter knew it had to hurt. The tattoo wasn't red or infected, so it had been some time since he had gotten it. Below the playing cards, there was a ribbon banner with a few words in Russian. "What does it say?" Peter asked, not sure if Neal would want to even share.

"Dead man walking," Neal said quietly as he looked down at the tattoo. It was upside down from his angle, but he intimately knew what the words said. "It's a clear symbol of my status, or so I was told."

Peter didn't know what to say to that, so he didn't speak up as he continued to inspect the tattoo. The two aces were diamonds and the two eights were spades. The little diamonds in the three visible corners of the aces were the only spots of red on the tattoo. Peter didn't think that The Dead Man's Hand ever had diamonds. "Doesn't The Dead Man's Hand have only black suits?" Peter asked, remembering the story his grandfather had told him.

"Diamonds represent snitches, and the spades represent thieves," Neal answered, though it sounded more like he was quoting someone. He let out a bitter laugh. "Those men really had the best sense of humor out of everyone in there. Dumb as a bag of rocks, but funny." Peter found nothing about forcing someone to get a tattoo funny.

"How did they even know you were a snitch?" Peter asked, though the answer was starting to come to him.

Neal's hands fisted for a moment. "An FBI agent visiting me didn't do anything good for my reputation, even if it was just to express his disappointment in me," Neal said, his justified anger towards Peter restrained but clear.

Peter didn't know what to say to that. Sorry just wouldn't cut it. "So you got it some time after that?" Peter asked after a minute of thick silence, knowing the answer and what it meant.

Neal nodded silently, knowing exactly what Peter was thinking. If Peter had listened to Neal a month ago, Neal wouldn't have had to be forced to get the tattoo. What else would have Peter been able to prevent if he'd just given Neal a chance? It wasn't something Peter wanted to think about, but had to face eventually.

There was a tense silence as Peter finished applying the ointment. After Peter finished, he cleared his throat uncomfortably. "How did they even know about an old west gunman's last hand?" he asked, mostly to move off the topic of way too much of what Neal had gone through being his fault.

"There's a surprising number of documentaries about all kinds of things on the old TV's in there," Neal answered.

Peter nodded even though Neal couldn't see him. "Uh, I'm done," Peter said after a moment.

"Thanks," he said quietly, then immediately reached for his shirt and put it back on. Peter could see that it was too large on Neal as it hung loosely from his now excessively skinny frame that lost a startling amount of weight from being held captive for a month, then from being in that hellish prison for two more months after that. Peter once again felt that now familiar pang deep within his heart as he thought of everything Neal had gone through, some of which could have been prevented if he'd just _listened_.

Peter got off of Neal's bed to give him some space, needing some space as well. Predictably, Neal relaxed more when Peter moved away. Peter hoped that helping Neal heal from his physical wounds would help him begin to heal his psychological ones. It was definitely worth a shot if it meant helping Neal through the results of his betrayal.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My grandfather told me about The Dead Man's Hand, so I decided to put it in there that Peter's grandfather did as well.
> 
> I know, there are still many questions yet to answered. Have faith that I will explain things in time!
> 
> Reviews make me smile!


	4. Because Of You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important information: JimChou, a loyal reader and reviewer, asked when this story is set during the series and I decided that it was sometime during the fifth season. After Hagen and Rebecca but before the season finale when (spoiler alert, read at your own risk!) Neal was kidnapped. Let's just say that there was never a chance for Neal's anklet to come off and neither Peter or Elizabeth got a job offer to go to Washington.
> 
> The chapter name is from a song by Kelly Clarkson, which was originally sung by Reba McEntire.

Peter paced for a moment after he got up from the bed, a bit of a loss as to what to do next. His growling stomach gave him something to focus on. "You wanna go get something to eat?" Peter asked, idly wondering when Neal had eaten last.

"I'm not hungry," Neal said, his voice flat. Peter had figured that the mention of non-prison food would've excited Neal as much as the shower had, but it didn't.

"That can't possibly be true," Peter said, doubtful. "When was the last time you even ate?"

Annoyance flashed across Neal's face for a moment, but it was gone just as quick. "I don't know. I'm just not hungry," he said, then carefully leaned against the pillows on the bed, wincing and clenching his jaw as he positioned himself.

"Fine," Peter said, trying not to be angry at Neal. "Will you at least take something for the pain you're obviously in? I bought some while I was out," he asked as he watched Neal shift uncomfortably on the bed, worry etched in his face despite the frustration he was feeling towards the always-stubborn consultant.

"I've dealt with it for months, I can deal with it now," he responded, the stubbornness still there after all this time.

"But you don't _have_ to, Neal," Peter said a little softer than he expected to.

"I'll be fine," Neal said, sticking to his previous statement.

"Fine," Peter repeated, not really wanting to argue with Neal anymore and not sure he'd get anywhere either. There was a takeout menu on the end table between the two beds from a restaurant that Peter had eaten at the day before. Their food wasn't bad, even though Peter wasn't sure what he had eaten, and their prices were fair as well. Peter grabbed the menu and his phone and ordered enough food for both him and Neal, just in case the stubborn young man wanted something after he smelled it.

The food arrived about twenty minutes later. Peter took the food from the delivery man, tipped generously in favor of not calculating the foreign currency more than necessary, then brought the two bags to the only table in the room. The food smelled great, just like Peter wanted. If Neal was as hungry as he looked, then he wouldn't be able to resist it very long.

Peter sat down at the table and started eating something called Kishka. He had no idea what it was, but it tasted great.

"You do know what you're eating is stuffed chicken intestines, right?" Neal said all of a sudden. He was still laying on his bed, watching Peter with half-closed, only slightly interested eyes.

Peter immediately dropped the fork that had another bite a second before it made it to his open mouth.

"It's a hell of a lot better than what I've eaten in months, but I really didn't think you'd ever go near something like that," Neal continued.

"I didn't know that that was what it was," Peter said as he wiped his hands and face on a napkin. That got a small smile from Neal. "If it wasn't served in prison, then how do you know what it is?" Peter asked after a thought came to him.

"I've been to Russia before," Neal said, causing Peter's eyebrows to raise.

"I didn't know that," Peter said, surprised that he didn't know that little bit of knowledge about a man he knew so well, but somehow barely at all.

"There's a lot of things you don't know about me, Peter," Neal murmured, the simple statement weighing down heavily on Peter with the assumptions of what Neal might have meant.

"You sure you don't want anything?" Peter asked as he dug through the plastic bag for something else. The aroma had to have made its way to Neal's nostrils by now.

Neal said something in Russian that could have been an insult or just a 'no, thanks' for all Peter knew. Peter knew very little Russian, or any other language besides English, for that matter. Neal, on the other hand, knew more languages than Peter could count.

"In English, please," Peter said, a little exasperated and not at all surprised that Neal not only knew Russian, but spoke with a perfect accent.

Neal smiled a little at Peter's inability to understand him and Peter wondered if he knew that he couldn't understand a word of Russian before now. "Maybe later," he said as he rolled onto his side to face away from Peter. Peter heard the message loud and clear - do not disturb.

Peter was a little surprised that Neal actually put his back to someone after being in an obviously dangerous prison, but then he saw a set of blue eyes watching him in the reflection of a small hand mirror that had been propped up against a lamp on an end table next to Neal's bed.

"Old habits die hard," was all that Neal gave as an answer.

Peter became a lot more wary of what he put in his mouth after learning about what he had been eating before. There were a few things that looked pretty normal, so he ate those. After cleaning up a little, Peter sat down on his bed and turned on the TV. He knew that Neal hadn't fallen asleep, so he wasn't worried about waking the younger man up. "Is there something specific you'd like to watch?" Peter asked, trying to start a conversation.

Neal turned onto his back, wincing a little, a surprised look on his face. "You never would have offered that to me before. Should I be concerned or honored?" There was finally a little humor in the younger man's eyes and that gave Peter a lot more hope that things could at least go back to a version of normal than he had moments before, even though he could still hear a clear note of bitterness and sarcasm that had been there before.

"The offer isn't going to stand much longer," Peter said as he flipped idly through the channels, not seeing anything that looked remotely entertaining.

Neal looked to the TV for a moment, then back to Peter. "Nah, I'm sure you want to watch sports or something. Though I'm not sure you'd know who to root for, or what they're saying either, apparently."

"Why would I need to know Russian?" Peter asked as he looked at Neal.

"Uh, maybe because you're _in Russia_ ," Neal said, his tone telling Peter that that should have been obvious. Neal shook his head, then rolled onto his side again, away from Peter.

Peter could admit that it would have been useful to know Russian while dealing with communication during these last few days and the last time he had been in the country a month ago. Well, he could admit it to himself. If Neal really wanted to know what he thought, then he would have stayed on his back.

Peter flipped through a few more channels and eventually settled on a nature documentary. He wouldn't know what they were saying, but he could enjoy the wildlife and scenic views.

Peter watched TV for a little bit while Neal rested on the other bed. Peter knew that the younger man never actually fell asleep because of the two blue eyes that were almost always watching him in the reflection of the mirror when he looked over.

After getting bored with not understanding what he was hearing on TV, Peter decided to try to talk to Neal again. "Do you want to tell me what happened to you?" Peter asked after he turned off the TV, breaking the long silence.

Neal rolled back onto his back, holding back a wince. "What happened to me when?"

"When you were kidnapped," Peter clarified.

"I already made my statement. I imagine you already read it...eventually," Neal said, his anger in Peter still very present.

Peter knew that he deserved that barb, just as sharp and as painful as Neal had intended it, but it still stung. "I did read it, but I think you may have left out a few parts," he said, still not sure what had happened to Neal after he disappeared so unexpectedly from his life three months ago.

"Like what?" Neal asked, apparently either not knowing of these gaps or intentionally acting clueless. Peter guessed that it was the latter.

"Well, why were you held for a month before you were forced to break into that science facility?" It was one of the things about this whole mess that didn't make sense to Peter.

"I wasn't being very cooperative," Neal answered vaguely, his eyes shifting away.

"But you eventually said yes?" Peter asked, his curiosity piqued. Neal nodded, not meeting Peter's curious gaze. "Why?"

"You really want to know what got me to help them in the end?" Neal asked, and Peter nodded again even though he wasn't so sure now. Neal sighed and turned his head to stare at the ceiling. "It wasn't the beatings or the starvation or even the threats to cut off my fingers one at a time, it was when they threatened you and Elizabeth and Mozzie and everyone I care about. I couldn't let anyone get hurt because of me." He laughed, but it was bitter and cold and sounded like every laugh that Neal had uttered recently. It nearly made Peter cringe. "I think that just might be irony - the conman caring more about how his actions will affect others more than the ' _noble_ ' FBI agent." He practically spat the word 'noble.'

Peter regretted asking Neal now, even if it did answer some of the questions he had been asking himself. "I'm sorry, Neal," Peter said again, knowing that he couldn't say it enough to make any of this right.

Neal shook his head, still staring at the ceiling. "I don't want your pity," he said quietly, his anger still very clear.

"There are still some holes in your story," Peter said after a minute, needing to know what happened to Neal so he could maybe help the younger man get past it, if Neal even wanted his help, which was unlikely. Elizabeth or June might have a chance at helping Neal through this, though Peter didn't seem to know Neal nearly as well as he had once thought he did.

Neal turned his head to glare at Peter. "It's not a story," he said, his eyes flashing with anger.

Peter held up his hands for a moment, regretting his words. "Sorry, poor choice of words. I believe you."

Neal just went back gazing at the ceiling, the anger radiating off of him simmering down to the level that it had been before.

"Who took you?" Peter asked after a minute. Peter knew that the two men that he tracked down weren't the brains behind the operation, but they were the ones that broke into the place and killed those three people. They were part of the operation and they deserved what will happen to them, what would have happened to Neal if Peter hadn't listened to that little voice in his head that told him to dig deeper, as well as Elizabeth, who, against all odds, didn't hate him for what he did.

Neal shook his head. "I can't tell you that," he said, seeming to be set in his decision.

"Why not?" Peter asked, not sure what would stop Neal from telling Peter who took him and bringing them to justice.

"The same reason I helped him in the first place," Neal said quietly, his eyes darkening. "Letting one more bastard walk free is worth keeping the people I care about safe. I've made peace with my decision a long time ago."

Neal had let Hagen walk for Peter's freedom after he was arrested for a murder that Neal's father had committed, something the agent had never actually thanked him for. Actually, he'd nearly arrested him, again. "Why did he take you?" Peter asked, accepting Neal's reasonings for now.

"I'm a thief, Peter, a damn good one. Plus, the man holds a grudge against me," Neal said, adding the last part as almost an afterthought.

"Why?" Peter asked, thinking of Wilkes for a moment. That grudge could have ended a lot worse than it did. Neal walked away with only a few bruises and a young girl was saved from the man that Neal had double-crossed before Peter caught him the first time.

"I'm not telling you that either," Neal said, not surprising Peter with the answer.

"Come on, Neal. Just throw a couple of hypothetically's in there," Peter said, trying to bring back some of that friendly humor that they used to have. Unsurprisingly, Neal didn't raise to the bait.

"It's not pertinent information," Neal said stubbornly.

Peter sighed. "Fine, don't tell me. Just tell me what you planned on stealing," he asked, wanting to know why all of this happened, what it was that could possibly have been worth this much trouble.

"A chemical weapon that the Russians have been developing. Real nasty stuff, stuff they shouldn't even be making since chemical warfare is illegal. I overheard some of the men that were guarding me talking. He was planning on using it at LAX, one of America's largest airports. Probably already tried. He did it to try to impress his father. I'm pretty sure he has some major daddy issues," Neal explained, his voice a little too monotone for what he was talking about.

"A chemical weapon? _Seriously_?" Peter asked, incredulous about Neal even trying to steal something like that. This was not at all what Peter was expecting, especially since that was not one of the things that the Russians said they had in the science facility that Neal had to steal from. "Wait, he _tried_? Nothing was stolen, Neal," Peter said after he realized what else Neal said.

"Do you really think that the Russians would tell you, an American that works for the United States government, if they lost a chemical weapon?" Neal asked, sounding a little amused by Peter's assumptions.

"So you're telling me that you let some nut-job use a chemical weapon on American citizens and you're only telling me _now_?!" Peter asked incredulously, trying to wrap his head around everything. How had he not heard about this? An attack like that on American soil would have been on nearly every news outlet in the world.

Instead of looking guilty, Neal looked quite annoyed by Peter's words. "Give me some credit, Peter. I wouldn't have let someone run around with something like that and not tell anyone. I sabotaged it," he said simply, like it was the obvious answer.

"How did you sabotage it?"

"Do you really want to talk chem with me right now?" Neal asked, eyebrow raised.

Peter answered by not speaking for several minutes. "So this man - whoever he is - couldn't set it off?"

"I think you would have heard by now if he did," Neal said, his tone quite possibly a little condescending.

Both men were silent for several minutes, Peter's brain trying to work out what he had just been told. "You should have told me," he eventually said.

"You didn't give me much of a chance to say anything," Neal shot back. Peter knew that he deserved that hit too, just as hard as Neal threw it at him.

Not really sure what else to say to that and not wanting to talk about what happened to Neal anymore, Peter pulled a travel book of crossword puzzles that Elizabeth had thoughtfully packed for him and worked on them. He also silently tossed a book he had brought with him on Neal's bed. Neal was hesitant to pick it up, but eventually started reading it, turning his back to Peter once again as he did.

Time went by faster after that and soon it was dark out. Peter ate some more of the food he had ordered, finding that his appetite had mostly returned after finding out what he had eaten before. After realizing that Neal was not going to eat without Peter forcing his hand, the agent tossed some sort of wrapped sandwich to Neal without comment. Neal stared at it for a long minute before hesitantly reaching out to grab it. He unwrapped it and ate slowly and Peter counted it as a win, as good of one as he could get right now.

Satisfied that Neal wouldn't starve to death under his care, Peter left the room to get ready for bed. After changing into a t-shirt and sweats then brushing his teeth, Peter thought of what Neal would wear to sleep. All the younger man had for clothes was what he was wearing currently.

"Uh, I have some extra clothes you can wear to sleep if you want," Peter offered after he walked back into the room Neal was in, feeling strangely awkward about offering his clothes to Neal.

Neal silently nodded, then carefully slipped out of bed. He looked expectantly at Peter until Peter went over to grab Neal his own t-shirt and sweats from his overnight bag. It wasn't the high-quality silk sleepwear that the younger man had worn back in New York, but Peter guessed it was better than what he had slept in the last couple of months.

Neal took the proffered clothing and disappeared into the bathroom. He returned minutes later wearing Peter's clothes, clothes that just hung off of his excessively skinny frame. If the clothes that he had been wearing before were loose, then what he was wearing now was almost obscenely large on him.

Both men settled down in their respective beds. Surprisingly, Neal faced Peter when he laid down under his blankets.

"I'm going to stay up for a little bit longer and read over these, uh, files," Peter said, not really wanting to tell Neal that they were his medical records from prison. Peter figured now was the best time as any to bite the bullet. "Do you mind if I keep my light on for a little bit?"

Neal shook his head. "Lights out was always my worst favorite time of night anyway," he said quietly, then turned off the lamp beside his bed and lowered his head onto a pillow that seemed a lot more comfortable to him than it really was. Though, Peter supposed, the bed he had been sitting on when the agent visited the day before didn't look at all inviting.

Neal closed his clearly exhausted eyes and soon his breathing evened out. In the half-darkness Peter could still make out Neal's face, still see the tense lines that were still there even when asleep, the sharpness of his cheekbones and the dark shadows under his eyes. Just looking at his face told Peter that the man had went through hell and back, so how did he not see any of this a month ago when it really mattered? It was a question that Peter may never know the answer to, or possibly did not want to know.

Bracing himself for the worst, Peter opened the file and started reading. Fortunately for him, the file had been translated into English so he was able to read it. _Un_ fortunately, it was still wrote in medical jargon, so Peter had to think for a minute to come up with what some of the complicated words meant in Layman's terms.

Neal had been in that prison for two months and in that time he had gone to the infirmary six times. The first time was for a badly dislocated shoulder and broken ribs as well as multiple, deep bruises. That had happened the day he had been put in there. The file stated that the other inmates were just putting Neal in his place - a common thing for them to do when a new prisoner arrived.

Three weeks went by before the next visit, much to Peter's surprise. Some of the whip marks on Neal's back had gotten infected, the ones that the guards had put there, as well as a minor case of frostbite on his fingers. Peter had a vivid flash of Neal tied to a whipping post, mercilessly whipped by cruel guards and then left out in the cold as part of his punishment for who-knows-what. It made him sick to think about it. No one filed a report on the guards that did that because it was common practice there.

Five days after that he went back because he had developed a nasty case of pneumonia that had him bedridden for four days. Only a day later did Peter visit him the first time, completely blind to his illness and innocence. His sickness very well could have been caused by being left out in the cold, tied up and at the mercy of Russia's bitter cold weather.

He was back a week after he got out of the infirmary because the illegal tattoo he was forced to get got infected, a tattoo he never would have gotten if Peter had just _listened_ to him.

A visit eight days after that was for more broken ribs, a cut on his abdomen that needed eight stitches and a badly sprained wrist. The file impersonally informed Peter that two other inmates cornered Neal in 'The Yard' and started beating on him until the guards were able to pull them apart. That answered Peter's question about whether Neal had been able to interact with other inmates. Peter wondered if it would have been better if he was forced into solitary. It was unlikely since Neal was such a social creature, though, by the sound of things, the animals in there were probably not great conversationalist.

The last time Neal went to the infirmary was when he needed a blood transfusion and thirteen stitches for three shallow stab wounds in the chest and stomach that bled profusely but somehow didn't hit anything vital. Peter was surprised that they had spared any blood for an inmate, though, Peter supposed, his execution was something that many people were looking forward to being as he had been a suspected murderer of three of their own. That had been five days ago. Peter had seen the stitches, but everything else had distracted him from them.

Out of every terrible thing clinically described in the file, Peter was indescribably relieved to see that there was nothing in it about sexual assault. Peter could feel a heavy, guilt-ridden weight being lifted from his shoulders.

"You know, you could have asked me what happened in there instead of reading it in a file," the man that was supposed to be sleeping suddenly said.

Startled out of his thoughts, Peter looked up to see two blue eyes staring back at him, suddenly feeling like he got caught sticking his hand in the cookie jar. "What makes you think that I'm reading about you?" Peter countered, knowing that his defense was weak.

"You wouldn't have brought a case file from the FBI with you to another continent. Even you aren't that obsessed with work," Neal informed him.

"I just wanted to know what happened," Peter said quietly, suddenly feeling like he had crossed a line.

"I didn't even go to the infirmary for half of the injuries I got," Neal said lightly after a minute, like it wasn't something that made Peter's stomach do a flip. He couldn't imagine Neal sustaining even more injuries than the ones he had just read about.

"I'm actually surprised you care," Neal then said, making Peter's heart clench. Peter wasn't surprised that Neal thought he didn't care - he'd left him in that hellish prison, after all.

"Neal..." Peter started, not sure how to say sorry for everything that had happened to Neal.

Neal shook his head, not looking at Peter. "Save it," he said, the anger he felt being shadowed by something Peter couldn't decipher.

There was a silence that Peter felt was awkward as he put the papers he had been reading back in the file and sat it on the floor. "I'm done reading now. Do you want me to keep the light on?" Peter wasn't sure if he'd be able to sleep very easily with it on, but he'd leave it on if it'd help Neal.

"No, I'm not afraid of the dark, just what was able to hide in it," Neal said, not looking at Peter as he admitted that. "The light coming from outside should be enough for me to see alright anyway."

Peter nodded, then turned off the light and the room was plunged into near-darkness. It was hard for Peter to make out Neal a few feet away and the agent wondered how dark, exactly, lights out had been for Neal.

Peter flipped onto his back and stared at the plain white ceiling above him. After the events of the last couple of days, he was exhausted and fell asleep sooner than he thought he would given the relentless thoughts that were swirling around in his head.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Neal's point-of-view will be in the next chapter and they'll be a flashback to his time in prison! Be sure to tune in next time for that!
> 
> Reviews make me smile!


	5. Memories Better Left Forgotten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this update took way too long, I've just been bouncing around from my three current stories and updates have been spotty. I have a lot of plans for this story, so stay with me!
> 
> I did do some research on Russian prison tattoos, so the information below is true.

Neal laid in the bed that was appointed to him - a bed that was probably not that soft, but felt like a warm, fluffy cloud to him - as he thought of the nightmare he had just woken up from. It was common for him to have nightmares - mostly consisting of the look of complete disappointment and contempt on Peter's face and the way he just walked away as well as the horrors of what had happened to him before he was arrested - but this one was different, this one was of the day he died.

In the dream, Neal was still in prison and Peter came back, not to bring him home, but to tell him how disappointed he was in him and to watch as he was injected with the poison that would stop his heart. In his dream, Peter actually wanted to watch Neal's death, see his last breaths, hear his dying words.

When the executioner - a faceless man that had the same voice of the man that started this whole ordeal - asked what his last words were to be, he told Peter he was sorry for the pain he had caused the agent and for failing him as a friend and CI. Peter had been in the room with him, watching him with such disappointment that Neal had to look away.

But, to his horror, when he turned to the executioner, Peter was the one that was about to inject the poison into his veins. "Once a conman, always a conman. I don't know why I had thought you could ever change," he said, repeating the last words he had spoken before he walked away, his eyes and voice just as cold and hateful as Neal had remembered.

Right as the poison was being injected into his body, Neal startled awake to see the cheap hotel room that Peter had brought him to the day before. He could hear Peter's soft snoring beside him and smell the food Peter had ordered the previous day that was sitting, half eaten, in the trash.

From previous experiences, Neal knew he wouldn't be able to fall asleep again after a nightmare as bad as the one he had just had. He sat up in bed and looked at the tattoo on his arm that he despised in the dim morning light that shone through the thin curtains that clashed horribly with the rooms décor.

He hadn't wanted the tattoo, but it hadn't been his choice to make. Now he was branded for life, now he had a constant, permanent reminder of the death sentence he had narrowly escaped. Prison tattoos couldn't be removed like professional, modern-day ones, the material that's used to make them - melted rubber from boot heels - too permanent.

Neal traced the dark lines with his finger as he thought of the day he had gotten the mark of his impending death.

_Neal pinched his eyes shut as he laid on the thin cot, his breath coming in short, harsh bursts as he tried to ignore what was happening to him. His arm was bent behind his back for easy access. He tried to focus on that pain, on the stress that was being put on the joints from being in a position they weren't meant for, and not the pain of his skin being marked, branded._

_He had been walking around in a daze for the last week, reliving Peter's visit in his head over and over, trying to figure out what had happened, why Peter, the man that he had thought would save him from this place, left him to die, so it shouldn't have been a surprise when three inmates grabbed him and forced him onto his stomach._

_He struggled at first when he thought the worst was finally happening to him, but when he heard the buzz of a crude tattoo gun that had been made out of a part of a toothbrush, a Walkman motor, and a sharpened guitar string for the needle, he knew exactly what was happening and continued to fight until a sharpened piece of cold metal was placed on his throat. He stilled then, knowing it was pointless to fight and that his struggles would only hurt him more._

_They taunted him in hushed whispers, called him a snitch, a dead man and many other offensive names as they etched into his skin a clear symbol of his status. They did so quietly, not wanting to alert the guards - it was illegal what they were doing, after all. Not that they cared, only that they didn't want to get caught. One of them had stuffed the corner of the bed sheet he was laying on in his mouth to silence his protests and moans of pain._

_He didn't know how long it took, but it felt like forever to Neal. After they were done marking him, they beat him, which was no more than a blur of shoes and fists as they spat more terrible but true words at him._

_Then they left him on the floor as he blearily stared at the tattoo, as he quickly deciphered the coded message within the makeshift ink with the help of the harsh words that had been whispered in his ear during the disgraceful branding._

_He knew how to speak and read Russian, so the words were easy enough to figure out, and he knew enough about The Dead Man's Hand to know what he was looking at. He'd also had a cellmate at one point that had told him about the code of Russian prison tattoos. He could read the message loud and clear. He was a snitch, a thief, a dead man walking._

_He tried in vain to wash the tattoo off after the initial shock wore off, just wanting the constant reminder of what horrible fate he was destined to off of his skin, out of his mind. Predictably, it didn't come off, no matter how hard he scrubbed._

_Despite his attempts to keep it clean, the tattoo got infected a week later and Neal was almost relieved by the short respite that was given to him when he went to the infirmary for antibiotics._

_It gave him plenty of time to realize that he no longer wished to live._

_If Peter didn't even think his life was worth saving, that his words weren't worth hearing, then what was the point? At some point, Neal wasn't sure exactly when, he lost himself within the cold, restricting walls of the prison he was trapped in._

_Looking back at his life, he couldn't believe how far, and how hard, he had fallen in the last few months. Not so long ago, he had friends that he had once thought cared for him, a roof over his head that came with a million-dollar view and a bright future ahead of him after he got off the anklet. He had nothing to live for anymore, the only thing he had planned for the future was his own execution._

_What a sad, pathetic fate he had been condemned to. One that, he realized with sudden startling clarity, he might just deserve._

WCWCWCWC

Peter woke a half an hour before the alarm he had set on his phone was meant to go off, still tired and definitely ready to go home to his wife and dog and to a country that spoke the same language that he did.

After staring blankly at the ceiling for several minutes as he waited for his mind to wake up a little more, he turned to observe his roommate. At first glance, it didn't look like Neal was awake. His eyes were closed, but his breathing wasn't even and there was a tenseness to the young man's muscles that made Peter think that he might be faking it like he apparently had last night. He had done a better job the night before, if he even was faking it now, that was.

After standing up and stretching, Peter debated on whether he should wake Neal up - if he wasn't already - before or after he took a shower. The decision was made for him when Neal, somehow sensing someone standing over him or choosing that moment to come back to the land of the living, opened his eyes. He flinched back, let out a startled yelp and, unexpectedly, kicked out, hitting Peter's leg with surprising force.

Peter quickly backed out of the range of another attack, holding his wounded appendage. Neal, apparently realizing who he just attacked, sat up in bed and stared, wide-eyed at Peter. "Jesus, Peter! You scared the crap out of me!" Neal said, his chest heaving as he raked a hand through his messy hair.

Peter gave his leg one last rub, deciding that Neal hadn't done any real damage, then gazed curiously at Neal. "What did you even think I was going to do to you?" It was obvious that Neal had thought that he had been in danger, if the vicious kick was any indication.

"From my vast experience in the prison system, you don't come up to another inmate unless you're planning on doing one of three things," Neal said, not answering the the question.

"And what are those three things?" Peter asked, though he was pretty sure he knew.

"Come on, Peter, you're smart enough to know the answer to that," Neal said dismissively, then flipped the blankets covering him to the side and got up. "Mind if I shower first?" he asked, then quickly went into the bathroom without waiting for an answer from Peter, locking the door behind him.

Peter stood there, blinking a little dumbly as he stared at the closed door Neal had disappeared through. The younger man had taken off like the devil himself had been after him.

Peter was smart enough to know what those three things were, but he tried his best not to think about them. It was too painful to think of Neal fearing that anyone around him could turn on him at any second every day for the last two months, and who-knows-what else before that when he held out against the pain and threats against his own life until someone that he loved was threatened. Some noble FBI agent he was for not giving Neal a second to explain what had happened to him.

"God, kid..." Peter murmured, shaking his head in disgust with himself and this whole messed up situation. He needed to talk to Elizabeth, hear her understanding voice, get his emotions back together. He grabbed his cellphone and dialed those familiar numbers.

WCWCWCWC

His hands were shaking. They were shaking and he couldn't get them to stop. Constant tremors shook through them as he brought cold water from the sink up to his face in a futile attempt to calm himself down.

He couldn't stay in the bathroom too long or Peter would start getting suspicious, but he couldn't go back out there with his hands shaking like they were. Peter, always one to notice the little things right when it was more than inconvenient for Neal, would see it in a second.

Neal couldn't show anymore weakness than he already had. If you showed any weakness, that weakness was exploited and then you're in deep shit. No, Peter could not see how adversely waking up to see the agent standing over him had affected him, how much it made him fear that something horrible was about to happen to him. That was a weakness and weaknesses were exploited.

He'd already said too much, revealed things that he had told himself he'd never speak of, especially to Peter. But when Peter started asking questions, the words just kind of came out, like water spewing out of a crumbling dam - unintentional and unstoppable.

Peter had always been able to lower his defenses and make him say more than he'd meant to. He couldn't let any more out, or he might just end up back in prison, and he knew that he wouldn't survive that place again, no matter if it was in America or not.

He'd also shown Peter way too much of what had happened in the last three months. Why did he do that? The whip marks would have healed just fine without help, they had in the past, for the most part.

How could he have been so stupid? Letting himself become so exposed and unguarded in front of Peter like that. Peter shouldn't have had to see that, shouldn't have had to know what had happened to him. It wasn't his burden to carry, even if he had walked away when Neal had needed him the most.

Neal wasn't even truly angry at him. Disappointed, heartbroken, yes, but not angry. He did what he thought was right and Neal understood that Peter couldn't trust his word over someone else's. It hurt, badly, indescribably, but that was what happened when you made a career out of lying and cheating. No one trusted you and you couldn't really blame anyone but yourself.

Neal knew that he was using anger to cover his deep, visceral hurt whenever he talked to Peter, but he couldn't help it. Anger was less of a vulnerability than pain and an anguish that made his heart physically hurt. Peter probably didn't even know the level of agony that Neal felt whenever he thought of the way Peter had abandoned him.

Against all odds, Neal was able to escape some of the worst things that could have happened to him in the prison he was taken to after being arrested. The whipping was brutal and merciless and the attacks from the other inmates left him in pain for even longer than the guards' punishments had, but he somehow managed to keep some of his dignity, if not all of his sanity, which he knew was no longer completely intact.

He had tried his best to make alliances with who he could, but when Peter visited him, then promptly abandoned him, word about his history with the FBI spread faster than wildfire and he became a target of abuse.

No matter if they had anything to do with their arrest or not, criminals hated snitches with a fierce passion. It was how the dark underbelly of life worked and Neal had known this when he had offered to become one originally. Of course, the only thing that had mattered at the time had been Kate and not the consequences of his actions.

The second month in prison had been, without a doubt, much worse than the first. During the first month he'd had hope of getting out of that place, hope of Peter saving him from his unfortunate fate, but during the second one, it was only his deeply integrated preservation instincts that kept him alive. It definitely wasn't his will to survive. That had died the moment Peter had walked away, though it took him a while to realize it.

"Neal?" Neal startled when Peter called his name, his voice muffled by the door between them. He was supposed to be getting ready to go to the airport, then get on a plane that would take him to the place that he had dreamed of going back to for three months, and he was scared shitless.

A quick and slightly hesitant glance at the mirror verified that he was no longer Neal Caffrey, suave ex-con with million-dollar smiles and ingenious plans to catch criminals that Peter hated but usually agreed to in the end, he was just a hollow shell of his previous self, a dead man walking. Everyone would see it, everyone would see the weakness he carried with him like a flashing neon sign.

He couldn't show weakness, not to anyone else, not again. He had to cover it up with masks and smiles and classic suits with matching hats and a flippant and cocky attitude, but he didn't know if he could pull that off anymore. Did that Neal Caffrey die somewhere within the walls of that prison?

"Neal?" Peter called again, startling Neal once again. Right, he was supposed to answer.

"Yeah?" Neal called back, proud that his voice didn't waver. If there wasn't a window in here that he could have gotten out of if he tried hard enough, he probably would have become claustrophobic by now, something that had happened more than once while in prison, both in Russia and America.

"We should get going. Our flight leaves in an hour," Peter said, not unkindly.

"Okay. I'll be out in a minute," Neal answered, then hurried to get ready. Whether he was ready to go back to a place he once called home or not, he needed to at least give it a shot. Not for Peter, but for what was left of himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside!


	6. New Divide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been back and forth about this chapter, but ended up deciding to post it. I don't think that it's my best work, but it'll have to do. I'm sorry if you think that this story is dragging, but I have a lot of plans for it, they're just a bit jumbled.
> 
> The chapter title is from a song by Linkin Park.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

After Neal finally left the bathroom, which took far longer than any man should take to get ready - sometimes it seemed like he took longer to get ready than a woman - Peter was able to shower as well. Once that was done, Peter packed the few things that he had unpacked and then Neal and Peter left the hotel room to go home.

As they were making their way to the car Peter had rented, the agent once again noticed that Neal was limping quite a bit. After everything that had happened yesterday, it had slipped his mind when he saw it the first time. "Why are you limping?" Peter asked, concern for his estranged ward showing through.

"It's not important," Neal said dismissively, walking faster, though that just made his limp even more pronounced.

Peter stopped in his tracks and Neal did the same, looking at Peter curiously and a bit warily. "Yes, it is, dammit!" Peter yelled, sick of Neal's dismissive answers, then forced himself to calm down when he saw Neal stiffen and take a half-step back. He waited until Neal got as close as the agent could hope to meeting his gaze before speaking up again. "Your pain matters, Neal. _You_ matter." It was the truth, but Peter understood if Neal didn't believe it coming out of his mouth anymore.

Neal looked quite confused and doubtful by Peter's answer, but then lifted his right pant leg until two nasty half-moon shaped wounds that looked a lot like a dog bite were revealed.

"Is that a dog bite?" Peter asked, quite disturbed by the thought. He remembered the dogs that had been barking when he had visited Neal in prison the day before yesterday and how the younger man had reacted to them. He was scared of them, with good reason, apparently.

Neal nodded silently, letting his pant leg fall back in place.

"Why didn't you tell me about this, Neal? _This_ is what I consider hurt," Peter said, trying to keep his voice calm. Seeing even more ways that Neal had suffered - was _still_ suffering - made Peter angry all over again. Angry at himself and angry at every person that had caused Neal pain in the last three months. He was a good man at heart that had been through so many hardships in his life that it was almost expected now and it hurt Peter to see what Neal always went through. The kid just couldn't catch a break.

"It's been about a week since it happened. It's not bad enough to worry about," Neal said with a careless shrug, apparently thinking that that was a good enough answer.

What would have been bad enough to worry about? The wounds didn't look infected, but it had to hurt quite a bit, especially if it made him limp that badly. When was Neal just going to be straight with him? Peter knew that he didn't deserve Neal's trust in any way, but Neal deserved to be helped in any way possible and that was all Peter was trying to do.

"We're going to miss our flight," Neal said, then started limping towards the rental car again, giving Peter no choice but to follow. Peter was going to make sure that bite - along with his growing list of injuries - was looked at once they were on familiar soil.

Peter tossed his bag in the back seat, but before shutting the door, grabbed the tube of ointment he had bought for Neal's whip marks and brought it with him to the drivers seat. The ointment also had a numbing agent to offer some pain relief, which was exactly what Neal needed right now.

"Here, put this on," Peter said as he held the ointment out for Neal to take once he was in the car.

Neal glanced disinterestedly at the ointment, then looked away. "I don't need it," he said, being stubborn still his automatic response.

"You're not losing your leg on my watch. _Put it on_ ," Peter ordered, his impatience wearing thin.

Neal glared at Peter, then angrily snatched the ointment out of Peter's hand and put some on the bite, not saying a word. It wasn't how Peter wanted to get Neal to take care of himself, but was the only way Peter knew how to get through to Neal right now. It would have to do for now.

The ride to the airport was without conversation and uneventful, the only sound being the radio quietly playing foreign music in the background. Once they arrived at the airport, Peter used his pocket translator to make sure that the flight crew knew that Neal was a convict in his custody, but not under any circumstance was to be cuffed. If Neal was planing on running, he would have done so by now. There was also no way Peter would've been able to put cuffs on those thin, bruised wrists with that tattoo reminding the agent of his failures.

Peter and Neal got seats next to each other, much to the agent's relief. Neal got the window seat and he spent a lot of the flight staring out said window, either to ignore Peter or because he wanted to see the vast expanse of sky, water and land - freedom in its purest form, something Neal hadn't been able to get anywhere close to in months.

The flight was long, boring and uneventful. The only remotely entertaining thing that had happened was when an obnoxious person a few rows in front of them got into an argument with a flight attendant about peanuts. It ended with the flight attendant winning, Peter had observed with some satisfaction.

Neal fidgeted a lot during the flight, sometimes wincing as he did. His many injuries couldn't be pleasant to have while sitting in the same seat for ten hours, especially since they were in coach, another thing Neal paradoxically had not bothered commenting on.

Neal had left to the bathroom a few more times than what was normal and Peter guessed that he just needed to stretch his legs, just move around a little within the confined space. He did not complain, like he would have a few months ago, but Peter could easily tell that he was anxious and more than ready to leave the plane as soon as humanly possible.

Since Russia was seven hours ahead of New York and their flight was ten hours long, it was past noon by the time they landed even though it felt much later since Peter had been awake for over twelve hours. Neal looked in even worse shape than Peter, but had also refused to sleep during the long flight. Peter doubted that Neal would have been able to relax enough to fall asleep with so many people around him after having to watch out for attacks from every direction for so long.

Once they collected Peter's bags, Neal and Peter went to the long-term parking lot where the agent's BMW was parked. Neal still didn't attempt to make any small talk, didn't ask about what had happened while he was gone, didn't even talk about the weather, which was currently bitter and windy. Peter didn't know what to say and didn't really want to force conversation on Neal if he didn't want to talk.

Peter didn't think anything of the weather until he saw the bright holiday lights adorning the buildings around them as they drove towards Manhattan and only then did he remember Christmas had only been a week ago.

The realization hit Peter like a punch to the gut. Neal had spent Christmas in a Russian prison, alone, thinking that his words - and life - wasn't worth Peter's time. Guilt once again found Peter and clenched his heart painfully. There was no apology that could fix that.

Peter and Elizabeth's Christmas had been quiet and reserved and not at all how Christmastime was supposed to be like. It had been like something was missing, or some _one_. There had been a hole in both Peter and Elizabeth's lives ever since Neal had disappeared, it just took a while for Peter to realize what was missing. Predictably, Elizabeth had known from the beginning.

With quite a bit of persuasion from his wonderful, understanding wife, Peter had looked into what had really happened with Neal in Russia the day after Christmas. After he had discovered his colossal mistake, Peter had bought a ticket for the first possible flight to Russia while at the same time making sure Neal was to be spared from his undeserving punishment. He'd made it in time, but just barely.

Peter forced himself to stop thinking of his screw-ups and focused back on the road. No words were exchanged between the two estranged friends until they made it to Manhattan. "June's house is the other way," Neal said confusedly as he craned his neck to look the general direction of June's mansion. His eyes widened as he looked to Peter. "Did she change her mind on letting me stay with her?" he asked, his voice more quiet than before.

Peter shook his head and quickly reassured Neal. "No, she still wants you to stay at her place." Neal's expression changed to relief, then back to confusion. "You're required to get a physical and psych eval before you can go back to work, Neal. We're going to a doctor to get checked out," he explained. It was one of the reasons Neal was going, but not the most important.

Neal nodded, his eyes darting away. He was silent for long enough that Peter thought that he wasn't going to respond. "What's my other option?" he asked quietly, always one to need to know every choice he had.

"An orange jumpsuit," Peter answered without thinking, his mind stupidly going back to the way things had been before, back when comments like that would just slide right off of Neal's back like water. Now he clenched his fists and jaw as he tried to let the comment go. Peter wanted to apologize for his idiocy, but Neal spoke before he could.

"I'll go to the doctor," he said quietly, his gaze on cheery lights outside of the vehicle that did nothing to brighten the tense atmosphere around them.

Peter knew that he couldn't just pretend he didn't say something so insensitive. Apologies were not Peter's area of expertise, but Neal deserved one. "That-that was out of line...and I shouldn't have said it. I'm sorry," he said awkwardly.

"You can't deny that it's true," Neal said with some bitterness.

"We... _I_ just need to know that you're okay," Peter said truthfully.

Neal didn't look back to Peter to acknowledge the words, but the agent knew that he had heard them. Whether he listened to them or not was up to Neal.

WCWCWCWC

Dr. Harrison, a doctor that many FBI agents used including Peter himself, knew about Neal's unique situation and was quite sympathetic and kind to both Neal and Peter, which was what both men needed at the time.

"How is he, doc?" Peter asked the moment the white haired middle-aged man came out of the exam room Neal was in, nervous energy making his foot tap as he waited for the doctor to tell him that Neal would be fine. That was what he was going to say because Peter couldn't handle anything else, not when a lot of what Neal had gone through was his fault.

Dr. Harrison seemed to brace himself before speaking and Peter tried to do the same, his worry for the ex-conman building by the second.

"The whip marks on Caffrey's back are not too deep and are healing pretty well. Unfortunately, many of them will scar, but Caffrey didn't seem too upset, or surprised, about that. The bite on his leg is deeper, but it's healing as well and there won't be any permanent damage. His limp should also go away as it heals. The stab wounds to his abdomen and chest were pretty shallow, hit nothing vital and are healing well. Those will scar as well, as will some other scattered lacerations on his body. Two of his ribs are broken and three of them are cracked, though the X-rays show multiple stages of remodeling to an alarming amount of fractures, suggesting long-term abuse. All five of his fingers on his left hand had at one point been broken, though that appeared to be a few months ago and have healed pretty well, especially considering that he probably didn't go to a doctor to have them stabilized correctly. He is terribly underweight and I've given him a diet to follow to get his weight back to healthy levels," the doctor listed, his kind voice doing very little to lessen the impact of the distressing words.

Peter took a deep breath, trying to process the myriad of injuries Dr. Harrison had just thrown at him. How many would Peter had been able to prevent? No, that was not how he should think right now. He needed to focus on Neal and his health, then he could have his own private pity party afterwards.

"All in all, he's not in great physical health, but he should be able to go back to work, if he stays on desk duty for a while since the alternative would be prison until he was subtitle for work again, and that would only impede the healing process. You'll have to understand, his body has suffered greatly in the last three months and it will take time for it to fully recover."

Dr. Harrison met Peter's scattered gaze before he continued. "As for his mental health, and I'm no professional in that field, but one doesn't sustain these kind of injuries without leaving unseen scars."

Peter nodded, knowing that that was the ugly truth. "What can I do?" The agent asked, feeling so out of his element that he wasn't sure he could do anything to help.

"Watch out for mood swings, violent behavior, depression, any mentions of suicide or self-harm," the doctor said, then gained a small smile. "I've suggested a therapist, but Caffrey refused and came up with a very convincing and well-practiced speech about not needing any help."

That made Peter feel fractionally better. The agent wouldn't know what to think if Neal wasn't trying to con someone - he did that almost as much as he breathed.

The doctor stopped for a moment and his gaze became softer. "And just...look out for him. Be there for him," he said, his optimism for a good outcome much better than Peter's.

Peter nodded, silently promising to do all he could for Neal. It was an unforgettable thing that Peter had done, but maybe, someday, it'd be forgivable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there it is! Please let me know if it's any good!


	7. What Goes Around, Comes Back Around

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I'm back! I think that this chapter came out pretty well. I'm satisfied with it, finally. I hope you enjoy it!

With an uncomfortable and invasive physical exam - that wasn't even necessary - and even more uncomfortable and mostly silent car ride with Peter out of the way, Neal was dropped off at June's house with an awkward goodbye from Peter and a promise to the agent that he'd be at work tomorrow, even though Peter had said that he could have taken a few days to get settled in. Neal just wanted things to go back to the way they were before he had been kidnapped, even though he knew that wasn't even in the realm of possibilities.

After a wonderful and slightly tearful reunion with June, who somehow knew that he just needed some time alone to get his unstable emotions back in order and his fragile masks back in place, Neal retired to the safety of his apartment, a place that he never thought he'd be able to go back to.

It was strange to be back after all this time, Neal realized as he looked around the apartment he'd once thought of as home. He wasn't sure where he belonged anymore. Nothing had changed, though, just him.

Pushing the memories, good and bad, that everything he glanced at brought up aside for later, Neal strode to the far side of his bed to a piece of flooring that someone couldn't tell could be lifted up unless they were looking for it. Underneath the panel was a small hidden compartment that held a few things that he hadn't acquired completely legally as well as a burner phone that he had gotten after he got out of prison the first time, so long ago.

Mozzie knew not to get rid of the phone that this phone would only ever call. Dialing those numbers he had long ago memorized, Neal put the cell to his ear and hoped that he'd be able to reach his long-time friend.

Someone answered barely after the first ring. There were noises in the background, people talking, cars honking. After a minute of only the hustle and bustle of a faraway city, there was a hesitant voice. "Is that you, Neal?"

Hearing Mozzie's voice after so long was like breathing in a wonderful scent that held so many memories you'd almost forgotten but were now flooding back. It was like coming home. Neal smiled for the first time in what seemed like forever. "Yeah, Moz, it's me."

WCWCWCWC

After a long and complicated conversation with Mozzie that involved a lot of explanations and a few tears that threatened to but never actually fell, Neal went to shower, which felt amazing and so refreshing. After only showering every few days for so long, being able to shower everyday was a blessing he soon wouldn't forget.

After throwing on a black turtleneck and dark slacks that were much larger on him than they had been the last time he had worn them, Neal made his way back to the main room of his apartment, his mind now racing.

Thoughts of everything that had happened with Peter - what Peter had said, the lies and truths that were somehow so hard to differentiate now - and what was to come when he went back to work and saw everyone that had thought he had run away from them and the life he had been unknowingly building were fighting for the spotlight in his head. He didn't know which one would win, or even which one he _wanted_ to win.

The anklet felt like such a foreign and strange weight on Neal's ankle, possibly even more so than the first time it had been strapped to him. Handcuffs or something else around his wrists felt much more familiar to Neal at this point, yet another testament to how far he'd fallen.

Neal started considering going to his wine rack and finding something to slow down his racing mind when a shadow near the French doors that led to the balcony stopped him dead in his tracks.

The shadow took a step forward until a face worn down from many harsh years appeared. Neal knew that the man's graying hair and wrinkled face was more the result of stress and years of smoking than old age. "Hello, American," a deeply accented voice greeted, his tone a cheap imitation of friendly.

"Dmitry," Neal greeted back, playing along with the man's feigned politeness even as he felt his heart start to pound harder and harder in his chest. This man was not supposed to ever come into this safe haven that Neal had finally found his way back to. It was so _wrong_ , such a violation to the goodness that this place represented.

Neal glanced toward the door to his apartment, suddenly afraid for June's safety. What if he had already killed her? The thought felt like a lead weight in the pit of his stomach, so heavy and too painful to even _begin_ to imagine.

Dmitry noticed where Neal's gaze had wandered to and smiled. "Do not worry about your landlady, American. She has not been harmed. _Yet_ ," he said with a pointed look. Translation: she will be if you don't do what I want you to do.

"What do you want?" Neal asked coldly, dropping the nice act. He just wanted Dmitry gone as quick as possible. If the man hadn't had so many connections and ways to hurt his friends, then Neal would have done everything he could have to get him arrested way before now, way before things had gotten this far. But this man was a disease that he could not get rid of and there were some things that were more important than to have one disease eradicated, just for two more to take its place, like impossible to kill weeds.

It was something that Neal had decided on and wouldn't change his mind just because Peter thought it was the right thing to do. Peter hadn't said that much yet, but Neal knew where he stood when it came to justice. But it was far past time to listen to Peter's every word like a devoted dog. Peter didn't see him as devoted or trustworthy anyway, so what was even the point?

Dmitry started casually walking around the large wooden table in the middle of the room and Neal followed his steps on the opposite side, always keeping the table between them as a pseudo barrier that wouldn't stop Dmitry from putting a bullet in him if he so pleased. The man didn't have a gun out, but Neal knew that he often carried, even when in a country foreign to himself. It was one of the many reasons Neal had turned on him the first time they had met, years before the anklet and months after Kate took off.

"As you probably already know, my plan did not end up working as well as I had initially hoped," Dmitry started, under-exaggerating. Dmitry's murderous plan had been completely ruined by Neal. "I don't know if you had something to do with that, but I'm not here for revenge since I have other ways to impress my father that will work out just fine."

That made Neal breathe a little easier. Dmitry showing up here to kill Neal had been the ex-conman's first assumption when he had seen the face from a past that he constantly wished would stop coming back to haunt him. But if Dmitry _wasn't_ here to kill him, then why was he here?

Neal and Dmitry still continued their slow parody of a dance, both men staying on opposite sides of the table. "As for what I want, well, that's a simple one. All I want is for you to keep quiet about who I am. Now that you are no longer facing death, you might think to snitch to your FBI friend. I do not recommend that, not if you want to keep your so-called loved ones alive."

Neal allowed his expression to show the disgust and anger he felt towards the man in from of him, but pretended to direct it towards those that he'd die for. "I've seen how they really see me as - nothing more than a criminal and a tool to use and discard when no longer needed, just like you said. I have no loyalties to them anymore." Neal knew that it was risky to lie like this, but if he wanted this man out of his life, then he'd have to take a chance.

Dmitry looked unimpressed, which made Neal wonder how rusty he had become. "What if I think you're lying? Would you, a noble hero underneath that confident exterior, be able to even bear to see anyone, even someone that saw you as nothing more than a tool at their disposal, be killed because of you?"

 _Stay on the offensive. Call his bluff._ "I know that you won't kill someone without reason and you have none since I have more incentive to listen to you if I'm not pissed off at you for killing someone, even someone that doesn't truly care for me," Neal said confidently, not confident at all. That truly had been one of his biggest cons - tricking people into thinking that he was the smartest and cockiest man in the room when the opposite was true.

Dmitry listened with interest, seeming to be quite fascinated by what Neal had to say. He nodded after a minute. "You know what, American? You are correct. I will not kill anyone unless I think that you will rat, and I do not think you will. Do you want to know why?"

"Humor me," Neal prompted flatly as relief flooded through him.

"Back when I was trying to find your weakness and you resisted every other one of my methods, the moment I threatened someone else, you caved. It is not your life you treasure, of which I will never understand, but others around you. You are a selfless, foolish man," Dmitry said with confusion lacing his voice, sounding like a man who never truly loved or cared for another individual, which was probably true.

"And you are a psychopath and a terrorist," Neal shot back, knowing that it would flatter Dmitry more than insult.

Predictably, Dmitry smiled widely. "You are too kind," he said graciously, then added almost as an after thought, "Also, killing someone is quite messy and takes time that I do not want to spend on you or your friends at the moment."

"It's nice to know I'm not inconveniencing you," Neal retorted, relieved that he, as well as everyone else, dodged another bullet from a gun that never would have been pointed their way if not for him.

Dmitry smiled, then stopped circling the table, Neal coming to a stop as well on the opposite side. Neal stiffened as Dmitry reached into his coat, thinking for a moment that he really was here to kill him after all and just wanted to play mind games with him first.

"I brought you a souvenir from my country. You never got the chance to enjoy the wonderful delicacies that one of my many enterprises creates, so I thought that I'd bring you a taste," Dmitry said as he pulled a white paper-wrapped package with Russian words covering it out of his pocket and placed it on the table between them.

Neal knew exactly what was inside of that package, knew the symbol that it bore from seeing it many times while being held by Dmitry. It would have made him shutter if he hadn't been controlling his outward tells of fear so well.

Dmitry smiled, almost as if he could see every emotion Neal wasn't showing. "I'll be watching, American," he promised, and with that, Dmitry left out the French doors and disappeared into the shadows of the night, leaving Neal to his racing thoughts that no amount of alcohol could slow down.

Even if Dmitry said that he wouldn't hurt someone he loved, no one was safe from him if he saw that Neal was still close to Peter and everyone else. They'd never would be safe, not unless Neal changed something.

He had to cut ties with everyone he could, distance himself from the ones he'd do anything for. It was the only way to keep them safe. He didn't even know if they truly wanted him back anyway, didn't even know if he could even look Peter in the eye again.

Distancing himself meant that he had to go back to that cheap hole-in-the-wall motel Peter had brought him to when they had first started their unconventional deal, but it would be worth it if it made June safe. He had brought this danger into her life and she didn't deserve that, not after everything she had done for him when he didn't even deserve it.

He'd tell June that he was leaving tomorrow. It might have been selfish of him, but he just wanted to stay one night at the first place he considered home in so long, possibly ever, if he was honest with himself, something that he wasn't sure he was anymore. He wanted to feel safe again, just for one night.

Even if the disgust and disappointment Peter had felt when he had said those cruel words right before he had left him in prison had been from false information, it still stuck with Neal. What he had said to Neal before all of this had even happened never left him alone either.

_"Because you're a criminal, and you can't help yourself. Shame on me for expecting anything else."_

Neal knew that was still how Peter felt about him. Once the guilt died down, he'd realized what Neal was once again and they'd go back to their dance of mistrust and half-truths. Maybe at that point he'd be able to be transferred to another division, to another handler. Peter would be safe then, and Elizabeth, by extension.

Mozzie would be much harder to push out of his life. Out of everyone in Neal's life, Mozzie had been his friend the longest. A couple of vague reasons littered with half-truths wouldn't do for the conspiracy theorist. Fortunately, Neal had a little more time until Mozzie was back in the country to come up with a plan. No matter what the plan ended up being, it would hurt them both, but Mozzie would be safe and that was what truly mattered.

After realizing what he could lose, Neal had made the tough choice to not tell Peter, or anyone, who Dmitry was. It came with the arduous weight of letting someone as terrible as Dmitry continue to do whatever he wanted, and it was a heavy burden to carry. He had done it for the right reasons, but that wasn't good enough for Peter. Nothing he did ever was, and never would be, good enough for Peter. It hurt, it hurt so deeply and irrevocably, to force himself to face that truth, but there was no point in denying it anymore.

Neal suddenly felt as if there wasn't enough air in the room and got the sudden urge to get away from the constricting walls around him. He stumbled a little unsteadily out to the balcony where he knew Dmitry wouldn't still be and to the balustrade he had often leaned against to gaze at the city, always searching for answers he usually never found.

The sun was setting now, frozen in that perfect few minutes when one could safely gaze at the sun and before it disappeared past the horizon. It calmed Neal to see such natural and untainted beauty.

Neal sucked in a long, slow breath of fresh air as he gazed at the caramel-colored sunset sky behind the tall skyscrapers. It was a sunset he never thought he'd see in a place he never thought he'd be again, and it was beautiful beyond words. He had admired many sunsets in his time, painted quite a few as well, but this one had to have been the most breathtaking. It took him away from his hopeless situation for a moment and that was blissful.

A chilly winter breeze swept over Neal and tousled his dark, wavy hair that probably needed cut. He was immediately cold and the dream-like moment was ruined just like that. He quickly retreated inside and closed the French doors behind him, locking them securely. Cold was _not_ something that Neal liked to be anymore. Memories he'd much rather forget were brought far too close to the surface when he felt a chill and he really wasn't in the mood to remanence about those days.

Despite being inside the warm apartment now, the bone-deep chill never left Neal, even after he tossed a couch blanket over his shoulders. He tried to rub his hands together, tried not to think of the cold and what it always brought, but it still didn't work.

Neal shivered uncontrollably as he unwillingly let the memory of one of his lowest moments in the last three months, quite possibly his whole life, consume him.

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Rows and rows of beef carcasses that hung on large metal hooks lined the vast walk-in freezer within the meat packing plant. Dmitry walked with his two most trusted men bracketing him until he reached the young American that hung limply by his wrists from a closed hook that he couldn't escape from, no matter how many times he had tried. The top of his bare feet touched the cold metal floor as his bent knees that were protected only by a thin layer of denim touched the floor as well. Nothing protected his bruised upper body from the freezing air around them.

As Dmitry stopped in front of the chained-up man, the man lifted his heavy head to glower tiredly at the man that had him imprisoned.

Dmitry crouched in front of the man and leaned in close. "Are you ready to give up this senseless bravado yet?" Dmitry asked, his voice a whispered taunt.

"Go to hell," the American said, his voice just an angry whisper. He then spat on Dmitry's handmade leather shoes, making Dmitry curl his mouth up in disgust when he saw the blood that was mixed with the spit on his expensive footwear.

The man's body might actually give in before his will did, Dmitry realized as he watched him shiver violently despite his attempt to stop. It was time to try something different, something Dmitry didn't think he'd have to do.

Dmitry grabbed the American's filthy hair and tugged until pained blue eyes glared weakly at his cold grey ones. "I know of your friends back in New York, American, and I can have my men do _much_ worse than what's been done to you to them. They will die a slow, painful death right before your very eyes unless you help me," he said menacingly, then let go and leaned back a little, knowing what was to come next. It definitely wasn't the first time he had been in this situation and knew what to expect.

Predictably, the American's glare increased tenfold as he lunged at Dmitry, but the chain around his wrists stopped him from getting anywhere. "Don't you _dare_ touch them, _you bastard_!" he spat, as if he had some sort of control over the situation, displaying the most anger Dmitry had ever seen from the man.

Dmitry grinned triumphantly as he glanced back at one of his men, who also had a smile on his face. "Oh, I think we've found your weak spot, American. So you're one of those noble hero types, then? Which one do you want me to start with?"

When the American growled, a low, almost feral sound from deep within his throat, Dmitry knew that he had him. That didn't stop him from having a little more fun.

"Would you help me if I got your keeper and made an example of him? Maybe his lovely wife? How about that old lady that graciously brought you in when you had nothing? Perhaps that little partner of yours? We sent that one on a, how do you Americans say it? Wild goose chase? Yes, we had to give him a few false leads to get him to stop looking for you in the right places. He's a loyal one, you know...But are _you_? Would you be able to stand idly by while the life was slowly drained from any one of them?"

"Shut up!" the American screamed, his teeth bared as if he could somehow intimate Dmitry in any way while chained up, beaten and at his mercy. He once again tried to fight against his bindings to attack Dmitry. It was a pathetic attempt, his body far too weak to do anything other than tire him out farther.

After the rage-fueled attempt to attack drained him of his last remaining energy, he gave up and let his wrists take all of his weight while his head came to rest on his bare chest, his breaths coming in short, gasping pants that fogged up when his warm breath met the cold air around them. His shook his head, eyes that were partially covered by dark bangs closed in exhaustion. "Don't touch them...please...They didn't do anything." It was the first time he had said please to Dmitry, even when Dmitry could see in his pained blue eyes that he wanted more than almost anything for the agony to just stop for a little bit.

"I won't touch them so as long as you help me," Dmitry said, his voice an imitation of soft and comforting now.

The American fisted his bound hands as he fought for an outlet for the anger boiling in his stomach. "I'll help you," he whispered brokenly, sounding like a man with no hope. Dmitry had never seen him so defeated. It was quite interesting to see that this - threatening the ones he foolishly thought of as family - was what broke him. "Just... _don't_ touch them."

The American probably didn't know it, but he had lasted three weeks and two days against Dmitry's brutal methods. Dmitry had only seen men trained to endure torture last that long. This man was not trained for such a thing, so it baffled Dmitry to see that he was so resilient, except when someone else's life was threatened. That was definitely strange and not something Dmitry had even seen before.

Dmitry knew from the first time they crossed paths that this man was not like others, but he did not know the level of loyalty he had for his friends until now. To forfeit the lives of thousands of strangers to save the lives of a few individuals that he knew was either very noble or very selfish. Dmitry did not know which one it was and probably would never know. But that did not matter, he had the American's help now an he was going to make his father proud, something he had aspired to do his whole life, but had never accomplished, until now.

"I swear on my father's name that I will not hurt any one of them if you cooperate," Dmitry said in all seriousness. He was no sadist. He was not a man to pointlessly hurt someone, just when he needed something from them or a friend of theirs.

The American lifted his heavy head to glare tiredly at Dmitry. "Your father is as much of a bastard as you are," he said, trying to insult Dmitry, but the Russian just smiled brightly at his words.

"It is an honor for you to put me on the same level as my father. Thank you, American," Dmitry said, truly honored. His father was well known for his ruthlessness and lack of empathy and Dmitry had always aspired to be as feared and respected as him one day. It was the reason that he was putting the man in front of him through this painful ordeal. That and justified revenge that was a long time coming.

"You're sick," the American said as he shook his head in disgust.

"I think we all are, at least a little," Dmitry said, not insulted in the least. He stood up and gazed down at the man that would help him become a man that his father would truly be proud of. "I'm glad you finally agree with me. We'll make a great team."

The American closed his eyes in what might have been despair, then opened them a minute later and met Dmitry's eyes with a new intensity of hatred. Dmitry was not afraid of any man but his father, but that pure loathing burning in the American's eyes showed of a danger that he did not think was capable of coming from the man in front of him. But as long as the threat of pain and death of his loved ones remained over his head, Dmitry knew that he wouldn't make good on what he clearly wanted to do to him.

Satisfied that he finally got through to the American, Dmitry turned to his men. "Take him to be cleaned up and give him a proper meal. He has a lot of work to do," he said, then left his men to take care of the American. His plan was finally advancing to the next level. It was a good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews and hugs are known to make the world a much happier place!


	8. The Truth Shall NOT Set You Free

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys, I'm sorry that this chapter took so long, but I wanted it to be as awesome as it could be!

"You two-faced, traitorous bastard!" Mozzie's voice bellowed as he stalked - there really was no other word to describe it - down the street towards Peter, who had been walking to his car, on his way to pick Neal up.

Peter sighed as he let his hand that held his keys fall to his side. He knew this was coming, knew that it was inevitable to see Mozzie and face the short man's wrath after everything that had happened to Neal, but he really did not want to deal with the furious conspiracy nut right now. It was Neal's first day back to work and this was not a good way to start the very stressful day he had ahead of him.

"You abandoned him when he needed you the most! He trusted you and you left him for dead!" Mozzie continued to rant, his fury almost palpable now that he was standing right in front of Peter. Peter had quite a few inches on Mozzie, so the shorter man had to look up to shoot daggers at the agent and he didn't look nearly as intimidating as he sounded, but his fury more than made up for the inches he lacked.

"Mozzie, I know-" Peter started to explain, but was cut off by the other man's cold words.

"First, you go _all_ the way to Russia _just_ to tell him how disappointed you were of him, then leave him to rot in that frozen hellhole, then, after the facts, not the man that trusted you with his _life and freedom_ , told you he was innocent, you bring him back to his gilded cage to once more become your pet convict. Tell me something, Suit - did you always know that you were a heartless, fact-reliant, governmentally payed backstabber, or was that a recent development?" Mozzie asked coldly, and hopefully rhetorically because Peter was not answering that.

Peter knew he couldn't deny most of what Mozzie said, but at least he could point out that he was trying to help now. "He would have died in that prison if I hadn't brought him back," he said, trying not to think of how close Neal had been already.

"I could have helped him escape and he wouldn't have had to go back to being treated like he was less than human again," Mozzie said, completely over-exaggerating. He made it sound like they locked Neal up in a kennel at night instead of letting him live in a mansion that came with a ten-million dollar view of Manhattan and Italian roast in the morning - the young man's cappuccino in the clouds that he loved so much.

"You didn't even know where he was," Peter shot back, still not sure why Mozzie hadn't figured out where Neal had been first. If Peter had been able to find Neal, then Mozzie most definitely could have. Where had the little guy been for three months?

"Because the fiends that kidnapped Neal, coerced him into breaking the law, then got him locked up saw me as a threat to their plans and gave me a very convincing trail of evidence that led me to Australia instead of the Motherland. Want to take a guess as to why they didn't bother to plant false leads for _you_?" Mozzie challenged, his tone icy.

That brought Peter to a halt. That explained why Peter hadn't seen Mozzie in the last few months - Mozzie being gone had been one of the many reasons why Peter had assumed Neal had run, but you know what they say about assuming.

Maybe if they had communicated better, things would have turned out differently. Mozzie and Peter had always butted heads when it came to Neal and what they felt was best for the young man, so it was hard for both of them to be on the same team.

"Does Neal know you're back in the city?" Peter asked instead of continuing their previous line of conversation. It hurt too much to think of the 'what ifs', and he'd already done plenty of that to last a good, long while.

Mozzie narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the change of topic, trying to figure out why Peter had asked that question. Truth was, Peter wondered if they'd had a chance to talk to each other face-to-face, reunite and no doubt drink plenty of wine. Neal needed the comfort of a good friend right now, not someone that Peter was at the moment.

"Not that it's any of your business, but he thinks I'll be back tomorrow. It gave me time to track you down and give you a piece of my mind," Mozzie said angrily, which didn't make all that much sense. Peter really wasn't that hard to track down since Mozzie already knew where he lived, something that the agent was becoming less and less comfortable with.

"I never wanted this to happen, Mozzie. I'm trying to fix things, but it'll take time," Peter then said, trying his best to show his sincerity.

Mozzie's voice was calm but deadly as he stared Peter down. "Just listen to me, and listen to me good, Suit. Don't you _dare_ break his heart like that again, or you'll never even see me coming to end you." With those final words of advice, Mozzie turned on his heel and went back the way he'd come, disappearing around a corner like an avenging ghost.

Until that very moment, Peter had never truly been afraid of Mozzie and what he was capable of. Peter didn't doubt that he'd make good on his threat if Neal was hurt by Peter again and that frankly scared him.

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Peter was let into June's mansion by the maid that he'd seen a few times before, though he'd never caught her name. He just namelessly thanked her and made his way to Neal's spacious apartment, hoping that the younger man would be okay with the agent picking him up. The only two options Peter could think of were Neal letting the agent drive him to work in a mostly uncomfortable silence, or slamming the door in his face after telling him to go screw himself. Their relationship was on very shaky ground right now, so Peter figured it could go either way.

Peter rapped on the solid oak door and waited for Neal to answer. After a few moments, Neal opened the door, looking quite surprised and suspicious by Peter's presence.

Peter was a bit early, so it wasn't a surprise that Neal was still in his fancy silk pajamas, warm, black robe wrapped tightly around his painfully lithe frame. His tattoo - a clear symbol of his status, Neal had said - was hidden under its long sleeve, out of sight, and Peter guessed that he was the only other person that would ever be allowed to see it, except maybe Mozzie.

"Peter," Neal said cautiously, his arm - the branded one - blocking Peter from entering or seeing much of the apartment. "What are you doing here? I told you that I was going to just catch a cab."

"Well, you're pretty much on my way, so I thought I'd just pick you up," Peter explained with forced lightheartedness, then shifted his feet a bit awkwardly when Neal narrowed his eyes, searching the agent's face for an ulterior motive. _Maybe this wasn't the best idea._

"Uh, okay...Thanks..." Neal then replied, his tone still cautious and confused. After a moment of consideration, Neal moved his hand away from where it had been resting on the doorframe and opened the door wide enough for Peter to enter.

Peter walked in and started scanning the room without much forethought to Neal's privacy. His preliminary search showed nothing out of place, but this was Neal they were talking about - the man knew how to hide things that he didn't want Peter to see.

Meanwhile, Neal shut the door and went straight to the table where a white paper-wrapped package that Peter had missed during his brief scan lay. Without looking at the package at all, Neal grabbed it and tossed it in the trash with enough force to make the can wobble unsteadily, his jaw set as if the thing had a personal vendetta against him.

"I just have to get dressed and I'll be ready," Neal told Peter, already walking towards the door that led to the walk-in closet full of expensive suits.

"Take your time. We're in no hurry," Peter called after Neal, then set his gaze upon the trashcan, the strange package definitely piquing his interest. What caught his interest even more was the way Neal acted towards it, like it had stolen his favorite rat pack hat or something. It was not the way that he would usually react to an inanimate object, so there had to be something special about this one. The only way to find out would be to dig the thing out of the trash.

Was he really that desperate for answers to Neal's current state of mind and any cons that he might have been planning that he'd dig in Neal's trash to find answers? Yes, Peter decided, needing to know the problem before it blew up in both of their faces.

After one last glance towards the door Neal had disappear through, Peter silently walked over to the trashcan and picked the package out of it. On it was a symbol of a cow with a red hammer and sickle, the two symbols that had once been represented on the Soviet Union flag, looming above it, ready to swoop down and kill the creature. There were some words below that, Russian words. Peter didn't know what they said, but they were definitely Russian.

Both anger and fear took ahold of Peter at that moment and he wasn't sure which one to address first. It didn't take long for him to know which one was going to take over. It was usually the one that won, so it wasn't a surprise.

"He was here, wasn't he?" Peter asked the moment Neal came back into the room, his voice sharper than he had intended.

Neal, who now almost looked like his normal self with an expensive dark grey suit that was probably the smallest Byron had once owned but was still a bit loose on him, stopped in his tracks, his eyes carefully not meeting Peter's or looking at the package in the agent's hand. "What are you talking about, Peter? Who was here?" Neal asked with feigned confusion and innocence.

"Don't play stupid, Neal. The man that kidnapped you. He was here and he left this, didn't he?" Peter said as he held up the damning evidence.

Something flickered in Neal's eyes as he glanced at the package for a split-second, but it was gone too quickly for Peter to decipher it. "You don't have to worry about that," he stated plainly with a hint of forcefulness as he adjusted the cuffs of his crisp, white shirt and jacket, making sure the bruises and tattoo were out of sight. His hair, though noticeably longer now, was styled perfectly, his suit clean and pressed, but Peter could still see the fading bruises, pale skin and thinness that only time would erase. Peter forced himself not to let that distract him from his new discovery.

"What did he say?" Neal didn't seem to want to share, so Peter repeated himself. "What did he say, Neal?"

Peter could tell by the way Neal's eyes flickered back and forth as he stared at the floor, calculating and trying to find an angle that would benefit himself the most, that he was weighing his options. To lie or not to lie. "He said as long as I don't rat him out that no one would get hurt, and I believe him," Neal eventually said, and Peter's jaw nearly dropped.

"What about the people that he will hurt because you're letting him go free? What about them?" Peter asked sharply, not sure why Neal wasn't even considering trying to take this guy down. Why couldn't Neal ever just come to him for help instead of trying to fix things on his own all of the time? It was the same problem they always had, just a different situation.

WCWCWCWC

The loaded question hung heavily in the air as Neal stared resolutely at the floor while Peter glared at Neal expectantly. It had to have been one of the hardest things about all of this. What would happen if one day the news showed an explosion, of fire and smoke, chaos and death, that Dmitry caused, things that he could have prevented? Would he be able to live with that? To protect the ones he loved, yes, he could.

"This man is a terrorist - he kills innocent Americans and you aren't doing a thing about it!" Peter continued when Neal stayed silent.

Neal risked a glance at Peter, then wished he hadn't. The way Peter was looking at him, it was something close to disgust and that hurt so much more than he could stand.

Neal then took a steadying breath and reminded himself why he was doing this. "You can't guilt me into saying anything, Peter. I've made my decision and you're not going to be able to change my mind with one of your patented lectures."

Maybe if he could find a way to get Dmitry arrested without him knowing it was Neal, they'd be safe again, but until then, he had to keep Dmitry's identity a secret from Peter. Peter would want to do things the legal way, involve the FBI and go through the proper channels, and that was the first place Dmitry would hear of Neal's betrayal. No, Peter could never know.

"You can't keep letting this man control your life!" Peter shouted, his anger nearly making Neal flinch.

Neal suddenly felt an anger inside of him and he didn't bother holding it back. "Do you think I enjoy always being everyone's puppet? To let them control my life? I hate letting him get away with these things, it kills me, but the alternative is unacceptable." Neal knew he looked somewhere close to desperate, but he needed Peter to understand. "I won't let anyone else I care about get hurt because of me," he nearly whispered, his voice a polar-opposite to Peter's.

"But you'll let innocent people get hurt? How can you allow that and live with yourself?" Peter asked incredulously, and Neal's heart clenched painfully. He knew that Peter would never understand his motives, not about anything he did, but he had still held some hope that he'd see, on some level, that he was doing what was best for all of them. But after seeing Peter's reaction, that hope died.

Neal was quiet for a few minutes as he got his emotions back under control. He forced himself to look Peter in the eyes as he address the older man. "This man, you can't even begin to understand the extent of his reach. If I ever said anything about him, everyone I know would be at risk. I will not go into witness protection, not again, and I sure as hell am not subjecting anyone I care about to that," he said with renewed resolve. He wouldn't - couldn't - be trapped in those lies and lives that weren't his own, be told where he could go and who he could talk to again. It was bad enough now, with the anklet and FBI and two-mile radius. However small and insignificant to others, Neal needed that modicum of control he still had over his life or he'd go mad.

That finally got Peter to stop shouting at him, so he continued.

"Everyone would have to go to ground. You, Elizabeth, June, Mozzie, maybe even Jones, Diana and Theo. I won't allow that, no matter what you say."

Peter's jaw and fists clenched tightly when Neal mentioned Elizabeth, and the younger man belatedly realized it might have been the wrong thing to say. "He threatened Elizabeth?" Peter asked, his voice so much softer than before it was frightening. Elizabeth was someone that Peter'd die for in a heartbeat; their love for each other was unmatched to anything Neal had even seen, and definitely anything he'd ever had with someone else.

He'd once thought that he had finally found that love and commitment with Kate, but she died before he could really know the truth about their relationship. After that was Sara, but she was in London now, thousands of miles outside of his radius. Then he had gotten his hopes up when Rebecca showed up, but their whole messed up relationship had been built upon lies, from both of them. Mozzie, as usual, was right - men like them didn't get a happily-ever-after, no matter how much he wanted it.

Neal shook his head firmly. "He won't hurt her, Peter. My silence is making sure of that," he said, sure that he was right.

"You'd better hope so," Peter nearly growled, which made Neal tense uncomfortably at the clear anger. The thinly veiled threat behind Peter's words was just one more reason for Neal to keep quiet. Neal could only imagine what would happen if Elizabeth was, God forbid, hurt or killed because of him. Peter had always believed in justice and not revenge, so Neal had his money on Peter throwing him back into prison and letting his beloved justice system and violent criminals that ate snitches like him for breakfast deal with him instead of exacting revenge himself.

"She's safe, Peter. You all are," Neal said softly as he tried shake off his dark thoughts.

Peter looked less than convinced, which made Neal swallow a bit nervously. Anger born from fear for the safety of the woman he loved was still burning in the back of the agent's eyes, but Neal could see him try to push that aside. "Neal, you _have_ to tell me who this man is. I can help you. We can bring him down together and keep everyone safe," Peter then said with a step forward, still trying to convince Neal to change his mind on something that he wouldn't budge on. No one would be safe if they tried to take Dmitry down - Neal knew that much.

"You can't help me, Peter, and I don't want your help. This is my choice and nothing you say will change that," Neal stated firmly, hoping that Peter would just let it go.

Peter tossed the package he had still been holding into the same trashcan he had taken it out of, the can tipping over from the anger behind the throw. "You don't want my help? Fine, find your own way to work then," Peter said with a dismissive wave as he turned away and left, the door slamming shut on his way out.

Neal stood there, his mouth open slightly in shock. He hadn't expected Peter to just leave like that, and it hurt. The way he just turned and walked away painfully reminded him of when he'd left Neal in prison a month ago, as well as when his father walked out on him, twice. It reopened wounds that had barely begun to heal, and ones that were just starting to fade.

Not for the first time, Neal wondered why everyone always left him. Was it him, or the ones that left him? The former seemed much more likely since Peter and James couldn't have been more different. Even Sara, who he'd been stupid enough to actually think wouldn't choose a once-in-a-lifetime job offer over staying with him, an ex-con that only brought death and destruction to anyone that made the mistake of getting close to him. She left him right when he started to think he found someone that would stay for the long haul, but he didn't blame her at all.

Peter leaving was for the best, really. Neal had needed to figure out how to push Peter out of his life, but if Peter decided to be the one to push him away, then he didn't need to find another way. It could work out for the better if Peter thought he was the one to end whatever remained of their dysfunctional relationship. It was inevitable, if you thought about it. Really, how long could a criminal and FBI agent play the part of friends and partners before reality brought everything crashing down around them?

Neal couldn't believe how stupid he had been by leaving that meat Dmitry had left him on the table for Peter to see. It was such a stupid mistake, one he knew he wouldn't have made three months ago. He would have thrown it away the night before, but he couldn't even stand looking at it, let alone touching it. Dmitry had given it to him just to mess with his head, a warning to keep his word, and it had worked perfectly. The bastard really was a master manipulator.

After Neal righted the trashcan Peter had knocked over, he glanced longingly at the bed he'd never get the chance to sleep in again. At this moment, he wanted nothing more than to curl up under the warm blankets on that wonderful bed and wish for sleep he knew wouldn't come. Despite having a wonderfully soft and comfortable bed to rest in, sleep had mostly eluded him last night, though that wasn't surprising in the least.

He couldn't remember the last time he had gotten a full nights sleep without waking in near panic whenever he heard a noise, subtle or loud, or when a nightmare became too intense. It had turned into a routine that he had grown accustomed to, but made restful sleep a nearly forgotten memory that was slowly fading more and more everyday.

Playing hooky sounded great, but since Neal's freedom was conditioned on him closing cases for the FBI, if he didn't show up, he'd be back to prison, and that was far worse than facing Peter and everyone else that he once thought of as friends. Not much in his world was a sure thing anymore; he didn't know who his allies were, who he could trust.

It was just like before he started working for - not with, never with; he knew that now - Peter, when anyone he worked with could stab him in the back - both literally and figuratively - and take off with whatever it was that they wanted from him. But he knew how to navigate deceitful conversations with untrustworthy people on a daily basis, no matter how hard and stressful it was. And it was all for the best, in the end, he kept telling himself, and would continue to until he truly believed it.

Grabbing his beloved fedora and coat - pieces of his armor he needed to face the world - Neal went down stairs to inform June that he was going to have to move out of the apartment he had been subletting.

He had a simple lie about his radius being shrunk down to one mile that was still set around the horrible motel because he'd been AWOL for three months and the Marshals wanted to keep a closer eye on him. And they weren't willing to move his radius because he wouldn't be able to get to work without setting off alarms.

She didn't need to know all of the ugly details, even if it would have been nice to talk to someone that - probably - wouldn't judge him. This was just one more step towards everyone being safe from the danger he'd brought upon them, and it was worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are all amazing! Thanks for reading!


	9. No Closer To Freedom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this update took so long! I hope it's worth the wait!

Peter fumed as he stalked back to his car, anger and fear boiling in his gut as he thought of everything that Neal had said.

Shutting the car door harder than strictly necessary, then thrumming his fingers on the steering wheel as his mind raced, Peter didn't dare drive until he calmed himself down at least a little.

Peter knew if he'd stayed in the same room as Neal any longer, he would have said things - more than he already had, before - that he wouldn't have been able to take back. He needed to cool off before continuing to speak to Neal, about anything.

But before that, Peter needed to know that his wife was safe. Even though he'd seen Elizabeth earlier that morning, he still had an undeniable urge to hear her voice.

"Hey, hon," Elizabeth greeted cheerfully after she answered the phone. "I'm thinking of making popovers with our dinner tonight. Yvonne just gave me this great sounding recipe for them. How does that sound?"

Peter closed his eyes and released the breath he'd unwittingly been holding as he let his wife's unstressed voice wash over him. She was safe, for now. "That sounds great, hon."

Elizabeth, clearly hearing the tension that Peter hadn't been able to keep from his voice, paused for a moment before speaking. "How's Neal doing?" Elizabeth, his very intuitive wife that missed nothing, inquired. Her voice was worried now and Peter hated that she wasn't happy anymore. It was unfair, but he blamed Neal, just a little bit, for her unhappiness.

"He's hanging in there," Peter answered vaguely, not wanting to make her worry anymore than she already was. He'd tell her, just not now. Maybe after dinner and a warm conversation.

"Do you think he'd like to come over tonight?" Elizabeth asked, ready to bring Neal back into their home once again, even after everything he had put them through. Peter wondered if she'd act the same way once she heard of the danger they were in again because of the conman.

"I don't think he'd be up for it, hon. First day back and all," Peter said, though he knew he was mostly making up excuses. Peter did doubt that Neal would want to come over since the two of them would probably end up yelling at each other again, but he wasn't sure if Neal did want some company. He'd have June to spend time with if he needed someone, he reasoned. The graceful woman had welcomed Neal back into her life with open arms and absolutely no hesitation to have a conman in her house again.

"You'll have to tell me how that goes," Elizabeth said, always concerned for others - just another thing he loved about her. Peter could just imagine that little wrinkle she got between her eyes when she was worried.

"I'll tell you all about it, promise," Peter said, knowing that he'd tell her no matter what. She was more than his wife, she was his best friend, his confidante, and he wouldn't lie to even if he wanted to. "If nothing major comes up, I'll be home in time for dinner."

"I'll make sure you make good on that promise - both of them," Elizabeth threatened with a smile in her voice. She was happier now, which was good, but Peter knew she'd be worrying about Neal, just like she had since he had disappeared over three months ago. "I'll see you then."

"See you then. Bye, hon," Peter said, hating to hang up, but knowing that Elizabeth had a very busy day.

"Bye, hon," Elizabeth echoed lovingly, then ended the call so Peter didn't have to.

That call to Elizabeth had calmed Peter down more than anything else could have. But even though El's voice had soothed some of his worries, the anger he felt towards Neal did not dissipate in the least. He just could not believe that reckless kid! He could never learn from all of his mistakes, always had to be stubborn and take everything on by himself.

Peter knew that he could take this guy that was threatening them all down if Neal would just let him. Yes, they'd probably have to go into WITSEC for a while, but having that man's threats hanging over their heads indefinitely was not an option Peter was at all comfortable with.

The bad guys broke the law and the good guys locked them up. That was how it was meant to happen, how it _usually_ happened. But ever since Neal had come into his life, things weren't that black and white anymore.

Neal had broken the law, then he was given a get-out-of-jail-free card. No, life was not black and white anymore. Neal had shown him the shades of grey he loved to stray to and hide in so often. Neal and his ' _the end justifies the mean_ ' way of thinking had comprised Peter's outlook on certain things, and he was becoming more and more convinced that it was a bad thing.

Peter's job, a job he'd had since before he'd even met the love of his life - and wouldn't have even had the chance to meet her if he hadn't become an FBI agent and been assigned to investigate that art gallery robbery all those memorable years ago - was to take down the bad guys, and the man - no, _devil_ \- that Neal had made a deal with was one of the worst kind. He couldn't just stand by as that man hurt innocent people and threaten those that didn't even know him - it wasn't in his nature, wasn't the way he'd done things for as long as he could remember.

Peter hated to see Neal under the influence of yet another person that threatened people he cared about, but the moment Elizabeth's name was mentioned, everything else had gone out the window. This was _Elizabeth's safety_ they were talking about - Peter'd die for her in an instant if it came down to it. She was the single most important person in Peter's life and he was determined to keep her safe. Having a threat of a man he didn't even know hang over both of their heads was not how he could live. He'd never feel safe, he'd never feel that Elizabeth was safe.

If they had to go into witness protection for a while, then it was for the best. Peter just wasn't sure how he was going to be able to talk Neal into coughing up the man's name. Threatening him with prison was a possibility, but the thought was dismissed as soon as it came to him. He couldn't bring himself to do that to Neal after everything the young man had gone through.

With Elizabeth's life threatened, Peter couldn't help but think back to some of the darkest hours of his life when Elizabeth had been kidnapped, how it had been an old partner of Neal's that had taken her so he could get the Nazi treasure that Neal had been hiding under Peter's nose for months.

And while Neal hadn't personally kidnapped her, it had been more Neal's fault than not, and Peter had a hard time not blaming Neal for everything that could have and did happen to Elizabeth. They got past it eventually, but that, along with countless other events, made Peter wonder if this vicious cycle that had started the moment he'd gotten Neal out of prison would ever end. How it would end was what worried him the most.

But it wasn't just some conman threatening his wife this time, it was a terrorist, a man hellbent on causing pain and suffering to Americans in any malicious way he could. What was worse was Peter didn't even know that man's name. How could he protect his wife from a ghost?

His wonderful wife knew everything that Peter did about this whole situation, other than the unpleasant details - she didn't deserve to hear about Neal's time behind bars, and what had happened before that. Elizabeth, bless her heart, somehow didn't hate Peter for what he had done to a man that was once his friend.

Remembering his betrayal didn't stop Peter from being mad at Neal for letting the man that threatened his wife stay free, but it did remind him that Neal had suffered greatly in the last couple of months, and that his first day back to work would most likely be a difficult one.

Today Bancroft, a few people of the Marshals service and a couple of OPR agents were going to meet with Neal to discuss where he stood with the bureau. There was _no way_ he was going to be put back in prison - Peter made sure of that - but some people, especially the Marshals, felt that he was still a major flight risk.

Even though Neal did not run, his status was being put in question. As per usual, they trusted Neal enough to close cases for the bureau, but not enough to give his leash any slack and constantly make sure that he didn't have the chance to cut and run.

Truth was, with Neal's skills and connections, he had the ability to take off any time he wanted to and disappear without a trace, but he chose a two-mile leash and to work for the bureau until the end of his sentence instead of a life on the run. Peter didn't know what that said about his ability to change, but definitely made it look like he was willing to, and trying to, become a better man.

Neal's deal with the bureau had been difficult and tenuous on the best of days, but now Peter wasn't sure what would happen. He might be handed over to another handler, and Peter would just have to accept that. He might even be okay with it.

With the higher-ups concern with Neal's unorthodox ways to solve cases, the conman could even be sent to another division altogether to get straightened out. Maybe it would be for the best if Neal was transferred to another department, away from Peter and the other agents he'd, against all odds, formed unlikely bonds with. It'd be hard for all of them, but maybe the distance would keep Elizabeth safer until Peter found a permanent fix to the situation Neal had landed them in.

Above all, Elizabeth's safety was the most important thing in those whole mess, and so help him, Peter was not going to let anything happen to her.

WCWCWCWC

Neal found that he was uncharacteristically nervous about his meeting with the higher-ups to discuss his status. He had no idea what was in store for him and was deathly afraid of going back to prison after the experiences he'd had there. He just hoped that no one was sending him back to a cage to rot like the unwanted and untamable animal he sometimes felt like he was seen as.

It was a scary thing, to have someone else hold his life in their hands. Neal had once been okay with Peter being the one to protect him and keep him in line while still having the power to send him back if he wanted to, but Neal wasn't sure that was the case now.

Neal felt like he didn't even know Peter anymore, how he thought, how he decided if someone was worthy of his protection and time. His entire perception of Peter had changed the moment the agent had decided to leave him in prison to die.

Neal pulled his mind back to the present and was just about to enter the conference room that the meeting was being held, but right before facing the music, Peter showed up out of nowhere.

"You don't need to worry about anything in there, okay? Your deal with the bureau will remain intact," Peter assured Neal, speaking a bit awkwardly as he refused to meet Neal's gaze, who was also avoiding eye contact.

It should have, but Peter's words didn't help much. The palpable tension that surrounded them made Neal even more anxious, but for completely different reasons.

Neal just nodded and pretended to believe Peter's words that would have eased his worries three months ago. Things were so much different now.

Peter had been so pissed when he'd stormed out of Neal's apartment earlier. There had only been one other time that Neal had seen him that angry and that had been right after Elizabeth had been kidnapped, something that had been his fault as well. When Elizabeth got involved, things changed, _Peter_ changed. He turned into this avenging husband that was capable of actually breaking the law and even hurt someone to protect Elizabeth. He was a force to be reckoned with, and Neal knew he'd reawakened that part of him again.

Neal'd truly feared that Peter would break his holier-than-thou moral code and hurt him back then, but a harsh shove was all he'd received. He'd gotten away lucky.

Now...now he had no idea if Peter would allow himself to lose his ever-present control and throw a few punches to vent his anger and frustration over having Elizabeth's life in danger once again.

Neal'd had his fair share of hotheaded moments - nearly shooting Fowler when he'd thought that he'd been the one to kill Kate, confronting Larssen after he'd shot Mozzie, attacking Keller, on at least three different occasions, ending with shooting him in the leg, not pulling his punches one bit when him and Peter had boxed after Sam, who actually turned out to be his father, skipped town because of Peter's inability to stay out of other people's business, threatening Hagan more than once while under the man's thumb - so he wouldn't blame Peter, or fight back.

If Peter wanted to let his violent side that Neal knew was buried deep down under that do-no-wrong FBI agent exterior take over, Neal wouldn't stop him. He'd probably egg him on, knowing that he deserved it.

Neal shook his head as he forced himself to focus on the present instead of dwelling on his many past mistakes. He squared his shoulders, took a deep breath and pushed the door in front of him open, prepared to lie through his teeth in order to stay out of prison.

Four men and one woman were deciding his future at the FBI. One of them was Bancroft, who, despite being a 'Suit', had actually grown to like him, which meant that he probably had at least one vote in his favor. One of the men and the only woman were from the Marshal service, and the two remaining men were from OPR, a division he still felt some animosity toward even though Fowler no longer worked for the FBI. No one smiled back at him when he did, which was not reassuring.

With a feeling of deep apprehension that he refused to show, Neal sat down and they began the meeting.

"Can you account for your whereabouts in the last three months?" the female Marshal asked once formalities were over. Her silver hair was pulled into a tight bun and her green eyes were sharp behind her frameless glasses as she stared Neal down.

"I was moved a lot and they drugged me when that happened, but I'm nearly positive that I was somewhere in Russia the whole time," Neal said, thinking of the abandoned office building, the old, wet basement that smelled like mold and one very rememberable meat packing plant. "At least that was during the first month. I imagine you know where I was the rest of the time." Unsurprisingly, no one verified Neal's comment, but also didn't ask him to elaborate.

"What were you doing during the first month?" one of the OPR agents asked. He appeared to be genuinely interested in Neal's answers, though he still seemed passively hostile towards Neal, just like everyone besides Bancroft. The other OPR agent - a younger guy in a cheap suit - just seemed bored with the whole meeting, like he had somewhere better to be.

"Getting tortured and sightseeing, mostly," Neal answered lightly, to which they all responded with deep scowls that told him not to make anymore jokes.

"Would you be able to identify any of your kidnappers?" Bancroft asked, more kindly than anyone else had.

"They always had masks on and never used names, so no," Neal said unblinkingly and they believed the easily told lie. None of them had bothered to hide their identity since they knew their boss had him scared into not talking, but the people in front of him didn't need to know that.

After that was more questions that were pretty much the same ones, just worded differently in hopes of tripping him up if he was lying (like that was even possible). It was all things he'd answered when he'd written the statement that absolutely no one had believed, but Neal didn't complain about the repeated questions, no matter how much he didn't want to actively think about what had happened.

Judging by the nature of the questions, Neal figured that they mostly wanted to make sure he hadn't broken the law anymore than he'd already confessed to - he hadn't been charged for breaking into the science facility since he was coerced and the statement he'd written helped Peter catch the ones behind it when he finally dug deeper, which was why he wasn't dead right now.

Also, Neal was sure that they didn't want the Russians to extradite and execute an American, even if he was a criminal, especially since it would be for a terroristic crime. Though Neal doubted that they knew that the Russians thought that he had been in cahoots with terrorists, unless Peter had told them, which was possible.

Still, none of that would help the two countries' relationship, which was still fragile. As long as the Russians thought that the people behind the theft were arrested, then they were satisfied with allowing Neal to return to America and his gilded cage.

Eventually, the meeting moved onto the only part Neal really cared about - what they were doing with him.

"After much consideration, we feel that it wouldn't be fair to count your time off anklet as part of your sentence," the male Marshal said with absolutely no sympathy.

 _'Because you governmental fat-cats know exactly what's fair and what isn't,'_ Neal thought bitterly while keeping his face from showing any of the anger he felt. This meant that Neal still had more than a year and a half to go until he was free, far too long for a wanderlust that had already been caged for over six-and-a-half years.

He wasn't expecting anything else, but it still hit him pretty hard that he had been kidnapped while under the FBI's supposedly watchful eye, tortured and threatened until he agreed to steal a chemical weapon, then imprisoned for two months and all he'd gotten for his time was nightmare-inducing memories and a cruel joke in the form of a tattoo he'd never reveal to anyone ever again, not even Mozzie.

Right when he thought that he'd gotten the worst of the news, the older guy from OPR spoke up and completely blindsided him.

"Considering all of the issues there had been while you were working with the White Collar Division, you handler, Agent Burke, has the choice to transfer you to another division. It's entirely his decision, but we all highly recommend it."

It was the perfect out, the best way to get away from Peter, and by doing so, making him and Elizabeth more safe, so why did it feel like he was about to lose something vital? Something that he wasn't willing to give up, consequences be damned? He wanted this and it was being presented to him on a silver platter, but if felt more like they were asking him to rip his own heart out and smile while doing it.

It was a catch 22, a double-edged sword. Whatever you'd like to call it, it was unfair and necessary and so very painful to choose the correct path. But no matter how he felt, Neal knew that he had to get Peter to transfer him. Dmitry was his problem to deal with, not Peter's.

It might have been Peter's decision to make, but Neal knew he'd be able to persuade the agent to get him transferred, guilt or no. His fear for his wife's safety overruled his guilt from leaving Neal to rot ten times over. Neal didn't blame him - it was actually quite the contrary.

He'd done nearly the same thing when he agreed to steal the chemical weapon for Dmitry. Guilt over stealing something that had the potential to kill thousands had been outweighed by his fear for the safety of everyone that he knew. Breaking it down, it was practically the same situation, except Neal made sure no one could be harmed by the weapon he'd stolen. It had been a huge risk, but he'd had to at least try to prevent something so unimaginably terrible.

The question that remained now was, if not Peter, who would Neal work for then?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, who's side are you on? Should Neal let Peter help him and tell him who Dmitry is? Or should Peter be patient and trust Neal to figure things out on his own? I'd love to hear your opinion!


	10. Severing Ties

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been far too long since I updated this story! Sorry about that, but I've been working on other ones, and then there was Christmas... Happy New Years by the way! Let's make it a good one!

If anyone had thought that things would magically go back to the way they had been before - the normalcy that Peter never thought that he'd miss until it was as painfully absent as a missing limb - they were optimistic, naïve idiots.

Sure, there were things that stayed the same, but it was the changes that showed the most, and they were so glaringly bright at times.

Neal would banter and make jokes with the other agents, though Peter could see that he was only doing it to keep up his front of nothing at all being wrong and nothing having changed.

But while he acted the same with everyone else, it was not the same with Peter. Sure, he was polite and respectful whenever he talked to Peter, but the camaraderie they once had was gone, evaporated along with the light atmosphere in the office that had vanished the moment Neal had stopped coming around.

Peter'd thought that it'd come back when Neal did, but Peter wasn't sure if Neal did come back, at least not all of him. Not the carefree smiles and the charm, or the cheerfulness that seemed to have once radiated from him, instantly brightening everyone else's day.

It was all replaced by plastered-on smiles that Peter knew Neal didn't feel, fake charm that only fooled those that didn't look too hard, and a tense air around him that didn't put anyone at ease like Neal's presence once did.

Neal now instantly obeyed commands, worked hard and didn't step out of line once. And it was all so _wrong_. Neal should have been coming up with crazy plans to catch criminals and even crazier ways to get out of paperwork, not just accept mortgage fraud cases without a smart-ass remark or plans of procrastination.

What was also painfully clear was how Neal moved noticeably stiffer than normal and still had a limp, even though he tried to hide both with dogged determination. He still tried to maintain his usual confident stride with that undeniable swagger. Unfortunately, even Neal Caffrey couldn't con past the pain of broken ribs, a vicious dog bite and the rest of his injuries.

Peter shouldn't have surprised when Neal showed up the first day with substantially faded bruises that could only be the work of carefully applied makeup. It was just more smoke and mirrors - a conman's best friend.

Neal worked much harder to ensure that his tattoo was always hidden than he'd ever had with his anklet - the kid would actually brandish the device more often than not while in the office, like he was silently taunting Peter in some unknown way. _I'm free from prison and this is the only thing keeping me here. And we all know I could just cut it and be gone without a trace._ At least he had before everything fell apart.

Peter still struggled with simultaneously being angry at Neal for keeping yet another secret and trying to watch out for him. Neal was pretending to fit back into his old life like he had never even been gone, but there were times when it was so clear to Peter that he no longer laughed carelessly and openly, he never put himself in the position of being alone with anyone, not even Peter, Jones or Diana. He kept his back to the wall whenever he could, tensing and becoming shifty when he couldn't be, and made sure everyone around him was in his line of sight. There were less hypothetical cons and escapades being shared with the team, and the mood in the office was just plain _wrong_.

If the way that it came about was different, Peter would have enjoyed the newly docile and obedient Neal. Now it just reminded him of how completely he had failed Neal as a partner and friend.

Despite all of the things that made Peter worry whether anything would turn out right, there was one thing that gave the agent hope for some form of recovery. It had taken a few days, but the results of the tests the doctor ran on Neal's blood came back, thankfully, all negative. He didn't have any diseases they had to worry about and Peter was immensely grateful.

Peter wasn't at all surprised that Neal passed his psych eval with flying colors - it would have worried him if Neal didn't try to con the psychiatrist into thinking that he was completely stable, which Peter knew was far from the truth.

Peter had thought about pushing for a psychiatrist that knew to look for the little signs of Neal's lies, but that could end up getting Neal put back in prison if he wasn't capable of working for the FBI and that was not at all what Peter wanted. Peter already knew that Neal was not in the right headspace right now, but sending him back to prison would probably crush his last will to live. Peter couldn't be responsible for that more than he already was.

WCWCWCWC

Two days after Neal came back, he solved a case the whole team had been working on for a week and a half. Things started to settle into their own strange parody of its previous rhythm after that. Nothing was right or the same as it had been, but there was a routine to it now, which Peter wasn't sure that was a good thing or not.

Then Peter was informed that he could transfer Neal to another department, and that changed things.

This opportunity gave Peter the chance to push Neal to a safe distance, for both of them - and, most importantly, Elizabeth. But last time he'd done that, it had blown up in him and Neal's faces. And of course there was Siegel, who had been an unfortunate and unnecessary casualty to Rebecca's sick and twisted love games. It was possible that assigning a new handler to keep Neal under control would have worked out if that woman hadn't killed everyone that she no longer deemed useful or in the way of her plan for Neal.

It was a hard decision, one that Peter didn't plan on taking lightly. He discussed his options with Elizabeth, and she was leaning toward having Neal transferred.

"We both know that you've pulled Neal out of the fires he started so many times, maybe even more than he deserved. Maybe you don't have to be Neal's moral compass anymore, hon. Maybe this is meant to be. He could do good in another department. It could be a good thing - for all of us," She had said, her caring voice gentle as she made her suggestion. She understood the danger Neal posed, especially now, and she just wanted what was best for them. It was an impossible choice in an unfeasible situation, and she was the brave one to suggest it for Peter and save him some guilt.

Even though Elizabeth still cared for Neal, Peter knew that she'd had such a hard time when the agent had gone to prison for a crime Neal's father had committed. James, who wouldn't have been in their lives to begin with if not for Neal. It was hard not to blame Neal for some of the things that had happened to them since the ex-con had entered their life.

Perhaps Elizabeth was right - this time could be different. Perhaps it was time to just cut Neal loose, let someone else make sure he stayed in line. Perhaps Neal wasn't Peter's responsibility anymore.

While Peter was thinking hard on what to do with his wayward pet con, the agent had Neal's tracking data up on his laptop, making sure that he wasn't somewhere he wasn't supposed to be. It turned out that he was, in a way.

It was almost eleven at night, but there was something off about the blinking red dot that indicated Neal's location. It did not show him at Riverside drive anymore. After looking the address up, Peter realized that he was at that motel that the agent had dumped him at when they'd started their deal originally. Looking at previous nights, it showed that Neal had been there every night besides the first night since he'd gotten back, which was five days now.

At first, Peter couldn't figure out why Neal would be there, then he realized the fool-hearted man's motives. The kid didn't want June in harm's way, so he moved out of her house to keep her safe.

Neal might've been a criminal and a conman, but he had a good, if a little misguided, heart. Peter couldn't deny that, but Neal was just exiling himself, and with how much of a social animal Neal was and how little real, friendly contact he'd had in the last three months it was not good for him to continue to lose contact with everyone that cared about him. Peter tried to reassure himself that at least Neal still had Mozzie to help him through this difficult time, then went to bed with his wife, holding her close all night long.

WCWCWCWC

Neal didn't know exactly what to expect when he went back to work, but he knew that he wouldn't let anyone see the damage hidden under his carefully constructed façade. Peter already knew far too much, seen far too much. No one else could see his weakness that he carried with him now, like a lead weight in the pit of his stomach, a dark cloud looming overhead, or a permanent mark on his arm.

Diana and Jones welcomed him back, acting as if he'd just been on vacation or something instead of some sort of twisted cross between a living hell and waking nightmare, but he wouldn't have wanted it any other way. Acting like everything was just fine might make the adjustment slightly easier than scaling the wall of a 14th century Scottish castle with nothing but his bare hands and climbing chalk, and _that_ hadn't been easy. Even the Harvard crew was sure not to mention anything relating to where Neal might have been the last three months.

Although they all had to know at least some of what happened from Peter, though Neal really wasn't sure how much he left out, no one asked questions or treated him like a victim - which he was not. He was not a victim, but he was also not a hero of any sort. He wasn't sure what that did make him, but he remembered a time when he'd been invincible, when nothing could touch him and he couldn't be brought down by anything.

Unfortunately, slowly but surely, his carefully constructed armor was dented by tragedy after tragedy. Now he had to work to keep a smile on his face when all he wanted to do was hide away somewhere until this most recent nightmare passed.

But that wasn't how he worked, wasn't _who he was_. He was a man of action, a man that always seemed to have a plan to get out of whatever mess he'd landed himself in. No workable plan had formed in his mind so far, but he'd figure out how to get Dmitry off of his back eventually.

Neal would have been much more confident in coming up with a plan if he had Mozzie at his side, but his oldest friend was not safe with him.

While pushing Peter away had been, and still was, a monumental task that took all of his willpower not to give into the agent's multiple offers to help him, Mozzie knew Neal's tells better, the few he had, so lying was harder when it came to his longtime friend.

Neal truly hated the mere _thought_ of lying to Mozzie, but it really had to be done. Mozzie would have been great to bounce ideas off of and help come up with a plan to unbury them from the mess Neal had thrown on them, but Neal knew that he had to go this one alone. It was his mess to clean up.

Neal had only given Mozzie barebones of what had happened to him, so he didn't know everyone had been threatened, who was behind everything, what Neal had stolen - he could only imagine how well _that_ conversation would go - or about the permanent souvenir he'd unwillingly brought with him.

Hopefully, Mozzie wouldn't become desperate enough to go to Peter for help and have the agent spill the beans like he had a tendency to do when that was the last thing that Neal wanted him to do. They had paired up before, but Mozzie did seem pretty upset with 'the suit' when Neal had explained what had happened the first time Peter had come to see him in prison.

Hopefully, Neal would be able to con the man who probably knew him the best out of everyone in his life well enough that he'd just give up on their long-time friendship. It was a grim hope.

Mozzie showed up at Neal's new living courters the first night he moved in - if one could even call the sad excuse for a motel room as a place someone could even reside in. The sink and shower deposited a brown-ish sludge that Neal refused to identify, there was no kitchen to speak of beside an electric burner that had a tendency to cause breakers to blow, and Neal had to wash the sheets twice, and with three times the recommended detergent each time, before he even _dared_ to sleep in them.

To fix these problems - or rather, go around them - Neal went to the gym he was a member of in the mornings to take showers there, ate out for every meal, and also bought new sheets after the first night of constantly scratching at nonexistent itches. He still had enough money stashed away to buy what he needed, so he didn't really have to worry about that for now.

It was by no means a ideal situation, but there was actually a part of him that felt like he deserved the unpleasant experiences that were being thrown at him. He'd brought a reason to fear his presence in their lives to everyone he cared about, so maybe he should have to pay his dues by living in less than hospitable surroundings. It was a small way to begin his penance for his many past sins, and he had many.

Neal had just come back from washing his sheets when there was a nearly frantic knock on the door. Neal was expecting Mozzie, so he was not at all surprised by the visitor. That didn't mean that he was ready for it. He had to tell Mozzie to leave and never come back, and he hated himself already for something he hadn't even done yet.

Taking a deep breath that did absolutely nothing to calm his nerves, Neal made sure that his tattoo was still hidden, then went to open the door.

"Neal, this place is _atrocious_! Did you know on my way to your room three women and a man asked me to come to their room, and I'm pretty sure only _three_ of them were hookers? And don't even get me _started_ on that guy at the front desk," Mozzie said with a full-body shutter, entering the room without permission, though the words nor the actions were at all surprising. Acting as if all was normal was how Mozzie dealt with change. Perhaps that was where Neal had learned that particular coping skill.

Once Mozzie scanned the room with open distaste, he took a deep breath and actually squared his shoulders before he truly faced Neal for the first time in over three months. He looked Neal up and down with clear concern - concern that Neal knew he did not deserve.

Neal was plenty aware that he looked like he'd been mistaken as a punching bag, even with makeup and clothing hiding the worst of the bruises, and was far skinnier the last time Mozzie had seen him, so the horror that Mozzie could not hide in his often revealing eyes was to be expected.

"It's, uh, good to see you," Mozzie said as he waved a hand at Neal, looking away as he said it. Open emotions were not easy for Mozzie, but Neal knew him well enough to see the emotions without Mozzie having to voice them.

Neal nodded, but stopped himself from saying the same. It was more than true, but it wouldn't help his con one bit. _His con_ \- he was conning his best and oldest friend. He was pretty sure he'd just reached a new low.

Swallowing hard, Neal forced himself commit to possibly the hardest con he had to pull off. "What are you doing here, Moz?" Neal asked as he crossed his arms and took an annoyed stance, letting anger seep into his voice.

Mozzie looked at Neal confusedly. "What do you mean? June told me that you moved out, which I don't disagree with, but we _really_ have to find you a more appropriate abode. This places' feng shui is _all sorts_ of wrong," he said, moving his fingers about vaguely.

"No, I mean why did you come? You've gotten everything you wanted from me, haven't you?" Neal snapped as he stalked past Mozzie to the far side of the room. It would have been easier not to look at Mozzie directly as he did this, but Neal still forced himself to turn back around anyway.

Neal would have busied himself with pouring a drink, but there was no alcohol in the room for either of them to drink to make this impossible goodbye any easier. It was something that Neal definitely needed to stock up on.

"Neal, you're not making any sense," Mozzie said, then narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Did the Russians give you something? Like a pill or something? It would have been large, round and red. Think hard," he said as he took a step forward, dead serious and very concerned.

Neal might have laughed at Mozzie's paranoia any other day. No, he wasn't brainwashed because he was completely aware of what he was doing, and how it was breaking his heart more and more by the second.

"No, Moz. Nothing like that happened to me. I just don't understand why you're here. Did you _really_ think I was going to let you continue to push me around?" Neal asked, then continued before a shocked Mozzie could answer. "Coming back to New York has open my eyes. I realized just how used I am by everyone around me. I'm done being your front man and running cons to get you your 'last big score', so there's no point in you sticking around anymore. Just leave me alone. Find someone else to mooch from," he said angrily, his voice rising.

Mozzie didn't move from the spot he was planted. He seemed completely stunned. Neal rarely raised his voice, and never to Mozzie.

Hopefully Mozzie wouldn't take any of this personally and blame Neal's sudden attitude change on the trauma he'd gone through. Any previously sane person wouldn't come out the other side unchanged by what Neal had gone through - not that he was blaming anyone else but himself.

But he still knew that he was not the same man he once was. That man was the center of everyone's attention, wore un-penetrable armor in the form of classic suits, and had a constant mischievous glint in his eyes instead of the haunted one Neal now avoided mirrors because of. Hopefully Mozzie would finally see Neal as the lost cause that he, himself, was beginning to think he really was.

"I said leave!" Neal yelled as he pointed at the door behind Mozzie, pretending to be angry when all he wanted to do was actually embrace his oldest friend that usually cringed at physical contact. Neal knew that he didn't deserve the comfort, though. He took a threatening step forward and Mozzie literally _scuttled_ backwards. Neal felt sick.

"Get out - and _don't_ come back," Neal said lowly, hating this ugly thing that he was pretending to be, or possibly became. He really wasn't sure anymore.

After a long staring-eye-contest that Neal won, when Mozzie reluctantly left, shutting the door quietly behind him, Neal collapsed onto the bed and allowed himself to cry, loudly and unabashedly, for the first time since Peter had turned his back on him.

WCWCWCWC

"You didn't tell me you moved," Peter said as casually as he could manage the next day at the office. It was the only way he could think of to bring up Neal's self-imposed exile.

It wasn't just June Neal was pushing away - Neal kept everyone in the office at a safe distance as well, making sure to keep his relationships with everyone professional, which was the exact opposite of what Neal had done before.

Peter inew that he was trying to show this man - whoever he was - that he didn't have real connections to the people that he threatened. Neal was pulling himself away from everyone, exiling himself to keep them safe. It was extremely unhealthy thing to do, especially for someone like Neal, who once socialized as often as he breathed.

Neal sat in the chair on the opposite side of Peter's desk, acting as casual as he could while in a considerable amount of pain that his fake smile couldn't even begin to hide. "It's still within my radius, so what does it matter to you?" he asked nearly absentmindedly, not looking up from the file in his hands. While Neal was still polite most of the time, there was still an undeniable anger towards Peter simmering just beneath the surface of Neal's carefree façade.

Peter let out a sigh as he gave up on pretending to read the file in front of him while he spoke with Neal. "I'm your handler - it matters," he said, turning serious. This was pretty much their first real conversation they'd had with each other since their big fight, the one with Peter storming out before more was said in vain. Before now, Peter had just pretended like Neal had, playing the roles of cop and robber working together that had once come so easily. He now realized that it was unwise to play along with Neal's con. Neal was no longer going to take the lead.

Neal finally looked up at Peter, also giving up on working for the moment. "You don't have to be," Neal said in a voice that was probably supposed to sound innocent, but just grated on Peter's nerves.

Peter, wisely, though not easily, chose to ignore Neal's not-so-subtle suggestion. "I know you're trying to protect June, but you don't have to stay at that dump. We could fix all of this if you just tell me who this man is," Peter said, once again trying to get Neal to give in. It was probably a futile endeavor by now, but Peter still wouldn't give up.

"Are we _really_ going to go over this again?" Neal asked, sounding more annoyed than angry, though Peter knew him better than that to think that that was what Neal was really feeling.

"Until you realize I'm right, yes," Peter said, feeling for a second that he was a father scolding his disobedient son. That thought would have been amusing under other circumstances, but now it just made Peter miss their previous camaraderie all the more.

"Of course, because you're _always_ right," Neal bit out, showing true anger for the first time.

"Your track record when it comes to these kind of things is not been the best, so yes, I'm right," Peter said a bit angrily.

"I'm doing the right thing," Neal reiterated like a broken record, making it sound like they were suffering for a valid reason.

"You may think so, but you're just making all of our lives worse," Peter snapped out, possibly too harshly. He took a breath, knowing that he had to maintain a calmness so their argument didn't get out of hand, especially since they were at the office with dozens of witnesses on the other side of the glass walls that made up Peter's office. They didn't need to know about the details of their precarious situation.

Neal actually seemed surprised by Peter's statement. "And how do you figure that?" he asked, eyes narrowed.

"Me and Elizabeth can't live in fear of man we don't even know, and you are just pushing everyone away. It's not healthy for any of us," Peter said with anger and sadness sharpening his words, though he held back from out-right yelling.

"Yes, but it will keep you alive," Neal said as he leaned back, acting as if that settled everything. Then he looked down as a troubled anguish swept across his sharp features, seemingly torn about his decision. Peter was hopeful for a moment that Neal would finally listen to reason, until Neal spoke up again. "Look, for what it's worth, I'm sorry for what I'm putting you guys through, but this is the best outcome until I can figure something better out."

Peter had had enough of the careful sidestepping. "Bull."

Neal's head jerked up, eyes widened slightly in surprise by Peter's sudden brashness. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. We could take this guy down if we sent everyone into WITSEC. I know it's not a great situation, but it's better than _this_ ," Peter said, spreading his arms outward to encompass their whole messed up situation.

"You want to uproot everyone's lives and ship them away to God-knows-where for _who knows_ how long and hope that the Marshal's can even protect them from a man that has so many connections, even in America, that it'd make your head spin?" Neal asked incredulously. He was looking at Peter like _he_ was the unstable one.

Realization suddenly dawned on Peter and he wondered why he hadn't seen the connection before. "Is _that_ what this is about? Ellen being found while under their protection?"

Neal's eyes flashed with anger as Peter said Ellen's name, but he stayed calm as he spoke. "It's not entirely why, but she was never safe with them. Not her, not my mom and not me. They couldn't protect her then, and they definitely can't protect any of us now," Neal said with grim confidence.

"We'd be safe with them, Neal. It's their _job_ to protect witnesses and their families," Peter said, knowing that he was right. Ellen's death was unfortunate and shouldn't have happened, but that didn't mean it would be the same for them. They'd do it right and keep everyone safe.

"Just like Ellen was ' _safe_ '?" Neal countered, then clenched his jaw as if to contain his growing anger. Ellen was still a touchy subject, especially since Neal had once blamed her death on Peter. Peter was pretty sure that he no longer did, but Neal still held some anger towards Ellen's death, though Peter wasn't exactly sure who he aimed it towards the most now - Peter, the Marshals that had failed to protect her, James, the person that actually killed her, or, as sad as it was, himself. Peter doubted Neal knew either.

Neal really hadn't grieved for Ellen, or Kate, at least not as far as Peter saw. There was probably a lot of anger and anguish bottled up within Neal, and Peter feared what would happen when he couldn't hold it in any longer. Little bits seemed to slip out occasionally, each time with disastrous results.

Peter opened his mouth to reassure Neal when Agent Blake - one of the younger members of their team - walked in, completely oblivious to the tense air around him. He caught on quickly - he actually cringed when Peter shot him a glare for interrupting them. "S-sorry, sir, but the judge just gave us the warrant to put Belinsky under surveillance. J-Jones said you'd want to know right away," he stuttered, eyes firmly locked on his shoes.

Neal took the distraction as a chance to get away, but Peter was watching him. "Thank you, Blake. _Neal_ ," Peter said before Neal could slip out of the door. The ex-con turned and made a questioning noise, pretending that he hadn't just tried to make a run for it. "You and me will take the first shift." That way Peter could keep an eye on Neal and make sure that he wasn't planning on doing something risky, at least for a few hours.

"Sure. Sounds like fun," Neal said with a fake smile, putting his hands in his pockets.

Blake quickly scurried out of Peter's office, and Peter thought that Neal would leave as well, but he lingered by the door. He seemed to want to say something, so Peter waited patiently.

"Why did you come back for me?" Neal eventually asked, his light blue eyes suddenly very intense as he locked them with Peter's. He seemed honestly curious, and not angry.

Peter did not expect that question at all and it stopped him dead in his tracks. The agent would always be sorry for the decision to leave Neal in prison once he realized the truth, but he had thought that Neal knew that. "Uh, I'm not sure I understand the question," Peter said, playing stupid, which was something he did _not_ need any acting lessons on.

"You could have washed your hands of me, permanently. And it's not like I don't deserve what would have happened to me, what _did_ happen to me. We both know that I did a hell of a lot more things than what I was arrested for," Neal continued, his voice not sarcastic or bitter, which confused Peter to no end.

Peter leaned forward and met Neal's eyes directly so he could make sure the ex-con understood. "Those were White Collar crimes, Neal. You didn't deserve _anything_ that has happened to you in the last couple of months. Not many people do."

"Then why did you leave me? Did you think I deserved it then?" Neal asked, apparently completely lost.

"No, Neal. I didn't know the guards were hurting you - or that you were sentenced to death. If I'd known that, I would have done something," Peter said sincerely, hoping that Neal would understand.

"Is that you or your guilt talking?" Neal asked evenly, eyebrows raised as he waited for a response.

Peter opened his mouth to set Neal straight when Jones entered his office. _Does anybody knock anymore?_

"The van is ready for you guys," Jones said, then seemed to realize that they walked into something, probably because of the deadly glare that Peter shot him. "Uh, should I come back?"

Peter stood up as he made himself not aim his anger towards Jones anymore. "No, Jones. Thank you. Neal, ready to go?" he asked as he put his coat on. It had been cold outside when he had come to the office and Peter doubted it had gotten much warmer as the day went on.

"Yeah," Neal said emotionlessly, slipping out the door to retrieve his coat from his desk chair as well.

Jones stood to the side for a moment, probably thinking about speaking up or not. "Are you sure you want to spend eight hours in the same small space as Caffrey? You two don't seem too buddy-buddy anymore," Jones said, probably not meaning to overstep, but he just didn't know all of the details, and Peter wouldn't tell him unless they did end up going into witness protection. He'd deserve to know then - they all would.

"We'll be fine," Peter said as he watched Neal go straight to his desk with no detours to other desks, though he didn't really believe it himself. Things were no longer 'fine' - they hadn't been for months, and Peter feared that they never would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end of chapter ten! Thank you all for sticking with me still!


	11. An Unlikely Alliance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! About darn time, I'd say! I've had some major writers block, but I think it's might be getting better!
> 
> Without farther adieu, here is chapter 11!

As a rule, Mozzie refused to lie to himself. It was a good rule, one that kept him sane in a world filled with liars and hypocrites. But today, he was tempted to at least tell a small fib to himself, because he was hurt, and he didn't hurt easily or often.

Neal had tore into his soul like no other had, and it was too painful to admit to himself. He still did, because he had to figure out why Neal had thought it was necessary to hurt him so deeply and viciously. And there had to be a viable reason, because why else would he say such things?

Mozzie had thought for a minute that Neal was running a con - maybe someone was listening in? - and Neal would give him a sign that it was all for the sake of something bigger. But the awaited signal did not come, and Mozzie was forced to face an ugly truth - Neal was either brainwashed - very possible since he was gone so long, and at the mercy of Russians - he was traumatized even worse than Mozzie had originally feared - an even scarier thought than the former one - or there was something else entirely happening to Neal. It had to be very, _very_ bad for Neal to resort to banishing his oldest and most trusted ally.

There was one more option to consider. As sad as it was, Neal might actually think that way now, and not because he was influenced by a traumatic event or malicious person. If that were true, what struck Mozzie as odd was why, after all of this time working side-by-side, did Neal feel this way now? Did returning to New York really open his eyes, as he claimed it had?

Mozzie had used Neal's uncanny ability to con others into doing just about anything, but Mozzie had thought that their relationship was one of mutual benefit. There was a give-and-take that had worked for them for so long that its absence had been agonizing in these last few months. Had Neal not felt that as well?

As much as he truly loathed to acknowledge it, Mozzie knew that there was one man that had more answers than he did, and that was The Suit. Neal's keeper had to know something about the man's attitude change, but Mozzie didn't even want to fathom speaking to that two-faced, governmentally paid leash holder. Unfortunately, at this point Mozzie didn't have any other options than to seek answers from the man that was quite possibly responsible for Neal's self-imposed exile and general radical behavior.

Decision made, Mozzie booked it to Tuesday and grabbed his advanced spying gear. It was time to do some recon, and maybe figure out what the hell had happened while he was indisposed.

WCWCWCWC

Mozzie watched his friend's leash holder from the shadow of a large elm that was standing tall and proud in a park across the street from his target. The Suit had just left the restaurant in which he had lunch with his wife, and after he kissed the fair lady goodbye, he crossed the street - using a crosswalk, of course - and started walking in the direction of Mozzie's watching spot.

After stealthily following The Suit for a few days, Mozzie made no effort to hide anymore because he was now ready for the person he was watching to see him. They had to talk if Mozzie had any hope of getting to the bottom of Neal's issues.

The Suit stopped dead in his tracks the moment he spotted Mozzie. Busy New Yorkers glared as they walked around the agent, but he payed no mind. "Mozzie," he said, his voice cautious as he studied the man in the shadows. "Did you come to yell at me some more? Or are you here to exact revenge that I won't see coming?" he asked sarcastically, though there was very little humor in his tone.

Mozzie studied his adversary with equal intensity as he forced himself to talk to the man he hated almost as much as whoever had kidnapped Neal. "Neal's in trouble, Suit," he eventually stated, taking a step forward.

"Whatever trouble he's in is the trouble he got himself in," The Suit said with a clear note of anger, placing his hands on his hips in his standard righteous stance.

Mozzie tilted his head to the side, considering. "Should I call for assistance to remove that monstrous stick lodged firmly in your behind, or do you think that you can get off of that high horse of yours and retrieve it yourself?" he asked evenly.

The Suit seemed affronted by Mozzie's bluntness, but did not back down from his statement. "If the man dug his own grave, I'm not going to grab a shovel, jump in and help him finish what he started," he said, clearly angry at Neal for some reason or another, which, no matter what Neal did, was wrong. It was Neal that should be furious at The Suit, not the other way around.

"You have to be the most heartless man I have ever had the unfortunate chance at meeting," Mozzie said with a sad, nearly disbelieving shake of his head.

"Please, Mozzie, don't hold back your feelings," The Suit muttered, sounding suddenly weary.

"Oh, trust me, I am. The only reason for that - and, let's be honest, the only reason we would have ever spoken without the involvement of handcuffs - is because of Neal," Mozzie stated honestly.

"Do you even know half of what has happened?" The Suit challenged, hard eyes boring into Mozzie's.

" _Do_ you?" Mozzie countered as he crossed his arms, trying to trick The Suit to reveal some knowledge.

Peter looked around as he realized they were starting to make a scene with their raised voices. "I think we should finish this discussion somewhere a little more _private_ ," he suggested, then turned and walked away without waiting to see if Mozzie would follow.

Mozzie stayed rooted in his spot, unsure if it was worth it to follow the unreliable Suit. This was for Neal, so yes, it was.

Mozzie forced himself to follow The Suit, but stopped when the fed unlocked and entered his fancy new BMW. There were plenty of witnesses on the street, so it would be difficult for The Suit to abduct him without suspicion. Still, Mozzie had not lived this long by following just any person to wherever they wanted him to go.

"This is for Neal," Mozzie murmured as he bravely put one foot in front of the other until he was at the car, The Suit patently waiting for him to work up the courage to follow.

With great cation, Mozzie opened the passenger side door, but did not enter. "I won't let you kidnap me!" he exclaimed, making sure to garner some attention, just in case.

"I wouldn't expect anything less," The Suit said without bothering to look at him, his tone deadpan.

With one more look in each direction, Mozzie hesitantly slid into the passenger seat and shut the door, hoping that he didn't just seal his fate.

The Suit turned to face Mozzie, his expression stern. "Okay, tell me what you know," he started, thinking that Mozzie would simply divulge all of his secrets just like that.

"No way I'll fall for _that_ , Suit. _You_ tell _me_ what you know," Mozzie countered, pointing a finger at the fed.

The Suit sighed as he wiped a hand down his weary face. "Fine," he begrudgingly relented. The Suit then filled Mozzie in on everything he knew about the events of the last three months, which was less than Mozzie had hoped, but considerably more than he, himself, had known. The identity of who did all of this was still unknown, which was an extremely important part of the mystery, but at least Mozzie now knew what had happened and why.

Mozzie worked hard to hide the horror he felt as he was told about the anguish Neal had gone through. The kid had been through hell and back, and was now exiling himself from those that wanted to help him. Mozzie knew why now, but it was a sad, sad realization.

Mozzie waited until The Suit was finished to shake his head at this whole situation. "You have no idea what damage you have inflicted on Neal, do you?"

By The Suit's expression as he relayed the haunting information, he knew he'd hurt Neal, but Mozzie doubted he truly knew the full extent. "I know I messed up a month ago, and I know that Neal's trust in me is shattered, but we can still fix some of this if Neal just _listens_ to me," The Suit said, his frustration clear.

"Have you said this much to him?" Mozzie asked, though he already knew the answer.

"Yes, I already offered to help him, but he doesn't even want it," The Suit said as he raised his hand for a moment before letting it drop to his leg, sounding the most defeated Mozzie had ever heard him.

"Or, he doesn't know how to accept it," Mozzie said, letting the other man think on that before divulging his realization.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" The Suit asked a little incredulously, so utterly lost for a man that once claimed to know everything about Neal Caffrey. Little did he know, he knew next to nothing. Very few knew the vulnerable kid behind the confident man that the world demanded Neal to become to protect that defenseless soul underneath.

Mozzie knew that the Neal Caffrey that everyone saw wasn't the real thing. Neal hid behind façades of confidence and dazzling smiles that he thought protected him from being seen as vulnerable or weak. In many ways, Neal was still that optimistic little kid looking for the family that circumstances completely out of his control deprived him of. Neal let very few people see the man he really was behind all of the masks he wore, and when he did, all they seemed to do was take advantage of his caring and loyal nature and his ability to con and forge.

The Suit was just one more person to take advantage of Neal, then cast him aside when he was no longer useful to them. He was just one more person in a long line of a abandonments that took a piece of Neal's soul every time they left him. Mozzie was no longer surprised to know the state Neal was in now that he could see nearly all of the picture. It was the information that Neal knew that still alluded Mozzie.

Mozzie sighed, preparing himself to explain the painful truth. "You abandoning Neal was just one of many in a long line of betrayals, Suit. Just think about it. His father left him when he was just three, not even giving him a chance to get to know the man. His mother fell apart at that point and never gave him the love that a child needs from their mother. Knowing that she lied to him about his father his whole childhood was such a betrayal to Neal that he ran from the only family he knew and never looked back." Mozzie shook his head, knowing that that was when the kid had started running, and he had never really stopped, probably because he didn't think he could, or forgot how.

"The jury is still out on it, but some believe - present company included - that Kate lied and conned him as well. I'm not even sure where Neal stands with that, especially now. And James coming back into his life, only to use him and leave him again really messed him up. Because of your wrongful imprisonment, I don't think Neal allowed himself to work through that particular betrayal, not that I'm really blaming you for that particular incident - and I know Neal never would."

The Suit listened to Mozzie speech, lips set in a thin, firm line. He did not seem to like what Mozzie was saying, but did not disagree so far. Mozzie braced himself for the even harder to accept truths.

"He was so hopeful to finally have a family, with you, Mrs. Suit and that whole misfit Suit family you have at the FBI, after all this time. Even though they'd broken up more times than I can count, Sara was the most stable relationship that Neal had ever had. And just when I started to think that Neal found someone that wouldn't leave him and would start to heal some of the wounds this cruel world has inflicted on him, she chose her career over him. I know for a fact that, if not for the anklet and the roots he's unknowingly put down here, that hopeless romantic would have chased her across the globe, he's so desperate for love and to have 'the one' he's always coveted more than any priceless artifact he has allegedly stolen."

Mozzie paused for a moment, observing the grim fed next to him, before continuing. "And of course we can't forget about Rebecca, who cruelly manipulated Neal, then ripped his heart out in such a violent and terrible way that I doubt he'll open up to let another woman into his life for some time. Just one of those things would have destroyed a weaker individual. Then there's Ellen..." Mozzie started to explain, but The Suit cut him off.

"Ellen didn't betray him," he stated firmly, interrupting Mozzie for the first time.

Mozzie shook his head sadly. "Yes, she and a few others are the other side of the coin of misplaced blame and guilt. With everything that has happened to Neal, it's now apparent to me that he has come to think of himself as a disease and whoever crosses his path are bound to die, get hurt or go to prison," Mozzie said so matter-of-factly that Peter seemed to take a moment to realize his words.

"That's ridiculous! He's not a disease," the fed argued.

"The death of Kate and Ellen as well as you and Mrs. Suits kidnapping says otherwise to Neal. Then there was your car accident, followed by you going to prison for something his father did - something Neal believes is his fault because he brought the sad excuse of a father into your life. You know, the sins of the father and all that. The guilt he has for causing you so much pain is probably the worst. The way you've been treating him has just reinforced that. He thinks that he deserves you pushing him away, most likely because he thinks you think he deserves the cruel shunning, and is now following your example by furthering his exiling with others to keep them from more harm," Mozzie finally finished, then waited for the fed to speak up.

Peter was silent as he thought deeply about Mozzie's theory. At least, The Suit probably saw it as a theory and not the truth that all of the evidence was spelling out to them.

"He also thinks that my shooting was his fault, though I personally think Kate, Adler and the music box are truly to blame," Mozzie added when The Suit didn't speak up.

"Do you really think he thinks that? All of that?" The Suit asked, his tone indicating that he really, really hoped it wasn't true.

"Neal didn't have a perfect childhood like you did, Suit. None of us cons did. He didn't have a real family, and very few true friends through the years. He was looking for a meaningful relationship with you and you tore that hope to pieces, locked it up and threw away the key," Mozzie said sadly, no longer finding satisfaction in pointing out the pain Peter had inflicted on Neal. It had felt good to place blame, but now it was just sad to recount the many harsh blows the unfair world had thrown at Neal.

Mozzie examined Peter for several uncomfortable moments while the agent did not say a word. "You really have no idea what he went through after he selflessly got you out of prison, do you?" he asked, shaking his head in disbelief and sadness. "There are very few times I've ever seen Neal shed a tear, and one of those was the night you told him he was nothing more than a criminal - the first time, I mean. It took me three hours and two bottles of wine to tell me why he had even been crying. After that was a lot more wine, but that's beside the point," he said, waving away his last words.

"I was trying to maintain a professional distance," The Suit said blankly, not even bothering to try to put much effort into defending his decision back then.

"That didn't work last time, and it won't work now, Suit," Mozzie said with grim confidence.

Peter swallowed thickly as he peered out the window at nothing in particular. Then, snapping out of his trance, he wiped a hand down his face, the stress he held on his shoulders like a physical weight. He looked over to Mozzie, his expression nearly pleading, which startled the shorter man. "How do we change his mind?" he asked, clearly on Mozzie's side now.

Mozzie shrugged helplessly. "If I knew, then I'd be doing just that instead of talking to you," he said, then waited a moment to speak the truth again. "After everything that you have done to Neal, or _allowed_ to be done, I should be planning me and Neal's trip as far away from you as possible. However, I doubt Neal would even leave at this point, and, unlike you, I refuse to force Neal to do things. As much as I loathe to admit, we have to work together to help Neal."

Peter nodded. "I agree," he replied, sounding as excited as Mozzie was.

"This does not make us friends, or even partners in crime," Mozzie continued.

The Suit looked at Mozzie sharply. "We are _not_ breaking the law," he said sternly, acting as if Mozzie would actually listen to him if he sounded authoritative enough.

Mozzie waved the G-Man's concerns away. "Plausible deniability, Suit."

"Words your people love to live by, it seems," The Suit muttered, apparently speaking of Neal or cons in general.

Ignoring The Suit's comment, Mozzie thought hard to figure out what their first step would be. "Where is he now?" Mozzie knew that before, when things were closer to normal, Neal and The Suit would often eat out together while on the government's time so they could brainstorm together even while on break, but Mozzie knew from watching the fed next to him for days now, Neal had not been with him once during lunch, or at all. It had him itching to follow Neal instead, but Mozzie had taught the kid how to spot a tail and he would know all of Mozzie's techniques too well.

The Suit seemed very uncomfortable all of a sudden, guilt marring his features. _What did he do now?_ Mozzie wondered with some exasperation, but mostly concern.

Peter rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "Well, I, uh, I was given a chance to give both me and Neal space from each other, to help get perspective, so I transferred Neal to another division. He went to a new anti-terrorist task force two days ago, and I haven't seen him since," he muttered to the steering wheel, keeping his gaze away from the fierce glare Mozzie was aiming at the agent.

"And here I thought you couldn't reach a new low," Mozzie nearly growled.

"Neal wanted this, too," The Suit defended, actually standing by his decision to farther separate Neal from his old life. "He even suggested the anti-terrorist task force, said that he wanted to do some good and put away a few terrorists, since he was letting one be free. He didn't say the last part, but it was greatly implied."

The anger Mozzie felt towards The Suit, which had been quelled slightly, boiled back up once again. "Neal is not in his right mind to make that kind of decision - what's _your_ excuse?" Mozzie challenged, then suddenly had an epiphany. The Suit had to have been effected by all of this, too. Mozzie had let Neal down in the past - those times were few and far in between, but they were there - and Mozzie knew that he was effected by those times of wrong decisions.

The Suit might not have been struggling nearly as much as Neal was, but there was still a lot of guilt to carry from a betrayal as harsh as the one The Suit had committed. Seeing Neal on a daily basis had to have been hard on The Suit, and transferring Neal must have been the only way to escape that guilt.

There was absolutely no way Mozzie was letting The Suit off the hook for what he did to Neal, but he was starting to understand some of his pain and reasons for separating Neal from him.

The Suit was still waiting for Mozzie to start yelling at him, but Mozzie didn't see the point anymore. They had a friend to save, and fighting wouldn't lead them anywhere. "I propose a temporary truce. Once Neal is safe and this whole thing is sorted out, we can go back to hating each other," he offered.

The Suit thought about Mozzie proposal for a minute before nodding. "That sounds like the closest thing we can get to working together, and if that helps Neal in the end, then I'm in," he said, just as determined to save Neal from himself as Mozzie was, which was more comforting than Mozzie wanted to admit.

Helping Neal was the highest priority, and Mozzie was not planning on giving up on that kid without one _hell_ of a fight. Peter agreeing to team up with Mozzie proved that he really did care for Neal as well, even though his belief in his beloved justice system was trusted more often than a golden-hearted conman. There still wasn't trust between them, but it was progress and would have to do, for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews are wonderful things!


	12. Au Revoir

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I can't believe it's been over 6 months since I've updated this! I've been so busy with other things that I really haven't had time for writing, but I've finally found some time to post this! So here you go!

_"I was given a chance to give both me and Neal space from each other, to help get perspective, so I transferred Neal to another division. He went to a new anti-terrorist task force two days ago, and I haven't seen him since."_

_ Four days ago _

Neal didn't really pay much attention to his surroundings as he walked through the familiar streets of Manhattan, though he was sure to stay within his radius. He also payed enough attention to keep an eye out for possible danger - he'd become much more weary of people, and aware of what they were truly capable of, in the last months - but his mind was racing far too much for him to be able to reacquaint himself with the city that he had once called home.

The lies, the cons, the broken trust, and all of those crucial decisions that brought him to this very moment swirled endlessly in his mind, never finding answers or peace. What had Neal most restless tonight was the fact that Peter still hadn't decided if he was going to transfer Neal to another department, though Neal knew that he was leaning towards going through with it.

If it wasn't for what had happened the first time Peter had tried to hand him off to someone else, Neal was sure that he would have already signed the papers. Siegel's death still haunted Peter to this day, as it haunted Neal as well.

After wandering aimlessly around his radius, walking familiar paths without much conscious thought, Neal eventually returned to his motel room. He hated it there, but it wasn't like he had anywhere else to go.

He'd cleaned the place up as best as he could, but all he really did was sleep there, when he could. Nightmares still plagued him, the subject changing nearly every night, keeping him guessing on what he'd have to face when he fell asleep. Most recently, it was Peter's disappointment that was the star of his unconscious thoughts. Some nights that was worse than dreaming of what Dimitri had done to him.

After locking the door behind him, Neal stripped off his coat, but left his thick turtle neck and undershirt on, knowing that, even if the room had been warm, he'd been chilled. His landlord had informed him that fifty-five degrees was plenty warm, and he was lucky that the heating sputtered on when it dropped below that.

He always wore multiple layers now, even though Peter eyed him even more suspiciously, like he was planing on hiding something within the layers, or already had. Neal used to wonder if there ever would be a day when he wasn't seen first as a conman, then as a man. The way everyone saw him as had almost cost him his life, but that was a life of a man that once lied for a living. He brought if upon himself and came to expect it now.

Exhausted and pained from his long walk - his body hadn't had much time to heal from its long-term abuse, and he knew pain pills would only lower defenses that protected what little was left of his self - Neal sighed as he sat down with a bottle of wine and a glass. He only kept one glass around since he didn't expect visitors, and the same went for chairs. That was why it came as a shock to him when he heard a sudden knocking on his door.

Both surprised and suspicious, Neal cautiously stood up, but didn't approach the door. "Who is it?" Neal asked from his spot by the small, round table.

"It's Peter," the knocker answered, and that, deep, familiar voice that Neal still associated with safety had him unconsciously relaxing. Then he realized that Peter would only come here if he had something important to say, and it probably wasn't good news. His abused muscles tensed back up.

Taking a deep breath, Neal walked over to the door and opened it, revealing an unsettled looking FBI agent. He was definitely not here for a simple chat, Neal was sure.

"Hey, Peter. Come on in," Neal said casually, taking a step back to allow Peter to enter.

Peter passed the threshold almost cautiously, his steps slightly unsure as he took in Neal's dreary living conditions. It was a hell of a lot better than the last place Peter had seen Neal in, but nothing like June's - or, as much as he tried to squash the thought, the Burke's. He had no right to think of that place as a pseudo home, not anymore.

Peter's sharp eyes caught sight of the dripping faucet, the ugly wallpaper that was peeling in multiple spots, the stained carpet below their feet, the missing television and exposed wires in the corner of the ceiling, and he seemed even more unsettled, disturbed even.

But his resolve was restored when his gaze landed back on Neal, and that was when Neal realized exactly what Peter was here to do - he'd accepted the offer to transfer Neal to another division. But he did not seem at all happy with that. Maybe he finally realized that Neal was incapable of being rehabilitated and was upset with how much time he'd wasted on someone that was never meant, or deserved, to be saved from himself.

"I've been doing a lot of thinking these last couple of days," Peter started, pacing slightly in the small room. "I've considered the variables, looked at things from every angle, but this was still one of the hardest things I've done."

"I take it you've made a decision," Neal asked more than stated, hoping that he'd hidden his apprehension from his voice. He knew what the answer was, but there was still that small sliver of stubborn hope that refused to be quelled.

Peter continued his reasonings thoughtfully, almost like he'd rehearsed them. Neal wouldn't have been surprised to find that he had. "I've thought about our relationship, the damage that's been done, to both parties, the destruction that we've caused each other. I hate what's happened to us, to our friendship, and I want to fix that if I can...But then I think of Elizabeth, and the danger she's been in, the danger she's _currently_ in, and I realize I can't fix this rift between us and keep Elizabeth safe at the same time."

Neal nodded, knowing that they had drifted farther and farther apart, and their most recent issue made it pretty clear that they were incapable of returning to what they once were - partners, maybe even friends. Neal had known since Peter had been arrested for a murder that Neal's father had committed, knew that all the work both men had put into their relationship was for nothing and was past the point of repair, but it seemed that Peter took a bit longer to give up on a relationship doomed to failure. Neal was one of the two people in that relationship, after all. There really had been no hope right from the beginning.

"I know why you want to transfer, and I have to agree with you on this. I also think time apart might give us a chance to get a better perspective on things," Peter eventually stated.

Neal nodded again, acting as if this was what he truly wanted. His con was successful, but it still felt like he'd lost everything in order to save it. His happiness wasn't what was important, though.

"I didn't come to this decision lightly, Neal. I have to protect Elizabeth and she's not safe with you in my life," Peter said with difficulty. It was the hard truth, and Peter seemed to be having a harder time accepting that than Neal was. Of course, Neal had come to that conclusion a week ago and made peace with it as best as he could. He knew that he had set fire to the bridge between them long ago, Peter had just given up trying to put the flames out and allowed it to burn.

"I understand," Neal said past the sudden lump that had formed in his throat.

"You understand that I'm not doing this just for Elizabeth, but I can't compromise her safety, not ever, not even for you," Peter said as he stared at Neal, the younger man struggling to keep looking the agent in the eye as he studiously ignored the agonizing pull at his heart.

Expectedly, Peter's decision was the logical one, much more logical than protecting a criminal. Neal knew that he'd never be higher on Peter's list of priorities than Elizabeth, and he never thought he should have been, but it still made him yearn for a deep bond like the one they shared. He truly loved her, and Neal tried not to envy that too much.

Peter waited for Neal's nod of acceptance before sighing and drifting towards the door, ready to leave. "I'll fill out the transfer papers tomorrow. I'm sorry, Neal, but this partnership can't work out anymore. I'll make sure that your agreement stays intact."

"I know you will," Neal said softly, because Peter was a good, honest man that didn't go back on his word.

Just when Neal thought that Peter would leave, the agent turned back around. "Is there a certain division you'd like to go to? I know you're not a fan of Agent Rice or Ruiz, but there are other divisions than Missing Persons and Organized Crime," he said before he left, clearly trying to make this transition as painless as it could be.

"Anti-Terrorist Task Force," Neal answered immediately, having already checked out the rest of the divisions in the New York field office. "There's a new one starting here and there's still a few spots open. I've already talked to the leader and he's willing to work with me. It may not be my area of expertise, but, as you've said, I know how criminals think. And I can do good there, help put away some bad people." 'Since I'm letting one go free' wasn't said, but Neal was pretty sure that Peter knew him well enough that it didn't need to be spoken out loud.

Neal did hope that Peter knew that he did feel guilt for letting Dmitry stay on the streets. It was eating away at him, and if that man did something truly horrible, Neal wasn't sure how he would be able to handle that. He had been able to prevent the attack that he was forced to be a part of, but Dmitry had many resources and plenty of determination - a deadly combination.

Asking to be part of an anti-terrorist division, Neal knew that he ran the risk of investigating Dmitry himself, but the man was a ghost and knew how to cover his tracks, so his chances of that was low. Neal knew Dmitry wouldn't care so as long as he didn't look into him while working for the new division.

Peter grabbed ahold of the doorknob, but lingered at the door, indecisive. Taking his hand away to wipe it down his weary face, Peter's eyes met Neal's once more. "Why are you doing this, Neal? Why won't you work with me to take this guy down?" he asked, anger now lacing his voice. It was the same question he'd asked so many times before, but it was clear that he was still unsatisfied with Neal's answer.

"I'm protecting your family, Peter," Neal said, his tone tired from repeating himself. 'My family,' Neal didn't allow himself to say. He didn't have the right to call them family, not after everything he'd put them through, even if it was for the best in the end. They could hate him all they wanted, but he refused to be responsible for their deaths. It would be too much of a toll on someone with so many others deaths hanging over him.

"What do you know about family?" Peter snapped, then seemed to be surprised by his own harsh words, but didn't apologize or take them back.

Neal's mouth dropped open for a moment, not believing that Peter had said that, then pressed his lips firmly together he as he looked away, tampering down both the anger and sorrow he felt surge inside of him. Even after everything, Peter had no right to throw his past - a past that was before all of the lying and conning, or at least his _own_ lies and cons - in his face like that.

Neal swallowed several times as he fought to control his sudden emotions before he faced Peter again - something that was growing increasingly difficult to do. "I may not have grown up with a normal family that loved me unconditionally, but I've seen enough perfect childhoods and families to know that I'm doing the right thing," he eventually stated, the waver in his voice not controlled as well as he'd hoped.

Guilt clouded Peter's eyes as he realized how deeply he'd hurt Neal with his rash words, and Neal mentally cursed himself for allowing Peter to see his pain. Pain was a weakness and he couldn't let anyone, even Peter, see that, not ever again. It nearly cost him everything last time - and still could, if he wasn't careful.

"I know you think you are, Neal, but you're playing a very dangerous game here. Lives are at stake," Peter said, his voice calmer but still urgent.

"You don't think I know that? Do you not think that keeps me up at night?" Neal asked, his tone laced with incredulity as he inadvertently revealed one more weakness. Perhaps it didn't matter much since Peter had already seen him at his very worst. What was just a few more holes in his crumbled facade of invincibility? Peter knew it for the ugly lie that it was.

Peter just shook his head sadly at the revelation, so Neal continued. "It kills me that he's still out there, but I'm not putting everyone I lo-... that you care about at risk for a chance at catching a ghost," he said, blaming Peter's previous harsh words to cause his usually sharp tongue to dull.

Peter seemed to have missed Neal's slip, the conman noticed with palpable relief. Instead Peter focused on the fact that they still didn't agree with each other's point of view and resumed his appeal once more. "This isn't how we can take this guy down!" the agent said as he took a step forward and waved a hand around.

Neal took in their bleak surroundings, their even more bleak situation, and wished that this was not how things had to be fixed, because so much lay broken between them now, but it was the only way to save those that deserved to be. "There's no more 'we' anymore, Peter," Neal stated sadly, looking away so Peter didn't see the shine in his eyes. He tried to play it off as a dismissal instead.

Peter sniffed, and when Neal shot a glance at him, the agent's eyes appeared to be a bit red, but he must have been allergic to one of the many possible allergens in the room. There was no way the agent was getting that emotional over finally ridding himself of the conman that had slowly been pulling him and his perfect, do-no-wrong justice system to the dark side. It had to have been a relief, if anything.

Peter shuffled his feet for a moment, then shook his head sadly, almost in defeat. "Just...take care of yourself," Peter said softly, surprising Neal with the concern weighted in his voice. Then he left without another word, closing the door softly behind him.

Neal stood staring at the ugly door for several moments, then eventually sat heavily on the edge of his bed, not sure what to think of what just happened. After weeks of distancing, he'd successfully pushed everyone away, but now he just felt...empty...and kind of lost. It was what Neal'd been working towards since Dmitry had visited him and he told himself that this was exactly what he wanted. It sure as hell didn't feel like it.

Neal didn't allow himself the luxury of mourning his once meaningful but ultimately doomed friendship with Peter like he did Mozzie - he didn't have the time and, frankly, he didn't deserve the closure, not after the pain he'd put Peter through. He had only a few days to get in the right headspace of a CI that would not be anything other than acquaintances to his colleagues, possibly just a criminal on an FBI leash to some.

He would go to work, do his job, then come back here at the end of the day. No drinks after work to take the edge off a rough day on the job, no friendly weekend dinners at the Burke's house 'just because', no trips to new art gallery openings just outside of his radius when he asked the right agent to escort him. Nothing to stave off the loneliness that he could already feel stifling him.

But that wasn't what really mattered. They were safe, or at least as safe as they were going to get, and now Neal needed a plan to take down a man that was completely untouchable.

If Neal was smart about it, he was hopeful that he could somehow get Dmitry to lose interest in him, or he could even try to get him arrested in a way that couldn't be traced back to him. Even in prison, Neal knew that the Russian could still hurt those that Neal loved, so he had to be extremely careful about getting him there.

Putting a discrete hit out on Dmitry was not something Neal allowed himself to consider. Despite what Peter thought, there were certain lines Neal refused to cross, and murder was one of them.

If taking down Dmitry proved to be too risky - people saw him as a man that loved to take risks, but not when other people's lives were at stake - he still had his fallback plan. He'd be free of the anklet in a year and a half, and then he could get away from New York and those he cared for. Until then, he'd have to endure the solitude he'd created, no matter how suffocating it already had become in the few minutes since Peter had closed the door between them, effectively cutting the last person from his life.

Neal had spent a lot of time alone in the last three months, but the loneliness that hit him whenever he found himself alone always took his breath away, just the urge for human contact, for someone that wouldn't hurt him and he could trust and would just be there for him. But instead of loathing it like he had for so long, he now welcomed it. The oppressive emotion was his last and only friend, the one thing that kept him grounded, focused, and he needed that as a reminder of what he could lose if he strayed for just one second.

He couldn't wander to Peter's doorstep and ask to come in for a chat, not anymore. That wasn't his life now. He had no allies and therefore, no weaknesses. Dmitry couldn't hurt him if he didn't care about anything. Or, at least not appear to care.

Neal allowed himself a small smile as he blinked away the moisture in his eyes one last time. It was all about how you play the other person right into your hand, and if there was one thing Neal knew how to do, it was how to run the con.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from series finale (it's French for goodbye).
> 
> Last line is a bit of a nod to runthecon over on LiveJournal.
> 
> Reviews make me smile!


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